


Diamonds and Rust

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Roseph as a side dish, smallmarch, vampire!Robert, werewolf!Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 06:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: New in town, Damien does not expect to get pulled into vampiric affairs so quickly, but when his new neighbor lies bleeding on his doorstep he has no other choice but to become involved in something terribly messy. Along the way: lilac starts to grow, signalling the beginning of a tender new love after all the heartache.





	1. Destiny, Hanging In the Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> What the shit is this? You tell me. It's the vampire AU nobody asked for, but there you go anyways.  
> Title is from Joan Baez's "Diamonds and Rust". The first chapter's title is a line from Miami Horror's "Real Slow".
> 
> Hit me up in tumblr at thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com if you want to gush about DDADDS!

Damien walks home at night.

The town is quiet at this hour and listens to the soft sounds of his shoes on the asphalt with deaf ears and sleepy eyes. He likes it best that way, all houses cloaked in peaceful shadows and no other person in sight. It allows him to think fondly of the many different lives currently asleep behind multi-colored drapes; night slows everything down into easiness. At nights like this, with the stars winking at him with drowsy light, he does not even notice how tired he is. It has been a busy day.

When he reaches his house, there are blood smears on the stairs. On top of them – a big lump of a figure, nothing more than balled-up, unmoving shadows. Is it a man? A cryptid? A dog? Damien stands very still at the gates and forces himself to breathe calmly, then he very slowly reaches for his phone and sends Lucien a message. _Are you home?_

He can see Lucien read the message, then there is typing – thank the Lord – and then, _Yeah. What’s up? You still at the shelter?_

 _Everything is fine_ , Damien quickly types, _I shall be there shortly._

When he puts back his phone, the panic sets in. Oh God. Oh God. He is not helpless, never has been, and he does not fear death, but that does not mean that he fancies leaving this world very soon and forcing his son to grow up alone. And his son is in there, likely wondering what the hell is up with his father now, only a short distance away from –

Oh, hey. He knows that leather jacket. He has seen it on his new neighbor shortly after settling in a few days ago. So far he has not seen much more than that him, but the leather jacket is enough to slow down his tumbling heartbeat and allow him to think. With a deep exhale he carefully kneels down next to the heap of a person and checks for visible injuries first. There is no pulse, but when the moonlight hits glittering fangs as he turns his neighbor around, he is not worried about that; if he is a vampire in such a bad condition, he probably is half-starved. It makes him wonder, but Damien is not afraid. For that, he has too much experience with vampires, those that were bitten as well as the Old Ones. What worries him more is the deep gash in his neighbor’s chest that dyes the red of his shirt almost black. Definitely malnourished then, if it is that dark. That probably is also the reason why he is unconscious and the wound still open. 

What to do? The sensible thing would be to call an ambulance, but hospitals are not particularly fond of vampires and there is no medic station especially designed for vampires in the vicinity that he knows of. Bringing him in? It is a dangerous thing to do. Damien looks up at his door and ponders his possibilities for a long moment before he exhales with a deep sigh. There definitely is something wrong with him, but he tries not to think about it too much. Did not Mary refer to him once? Robert it was, he thinks, but he is not entirely sure. As it is, he steels himself, unlocks his door and opens it wide before he somehow manages to half-carry, half-drag Robert inside the house. Blood spatters across the dark wood of his floor, but he decides to take care of that later; for now, he is just glad that there is a blanket thrown over the couch onto which he lowers the vampire as gently as possible. Only then he walks into the bathroom for his first aid kit.

It is not the first time he patches up a vampire, but he tries not to think about that fact too much. Casting a worried glance towards the staircase leading up to Lucien’s room, he is relieved to notice that everything is quiet – aside from the horrible music blasting out from behind his son’s door. In this case he is grateful for it because it allows him to quietly shut the door to the living room and set to work. 

Getting an unconscious man out of his clothes is surprisingly hard. He focuses on peeling off the leather jacket and setting it aside, sighing when he realizes that the shirt, torn and soaked with blood, is beyond repair, so he straight up throws it into the trash. The gash in his neighbor’s chest is deeper than he thought. By now it has stopped bleeding, but it definitely needs stitching and he is almost sure that there will be a scar. After cleaning Robert’s chest – what a nice chest, he absentmindedly thinks, immediately berating himself for such thoughts in such a situation –, he throws more disinfectant onto the gash than probably necessary before he puts on rubber gloves and does the same with the needle. Damien is not particularly fond of weaving thread through flesh, but he fights the upcoming sickness as best as he can and breathes through his mouth to do what has to be done. The vampire groans underneath his hands, his eyelids flutter. His face is ruggedly handsome and his knuckles are bruised in all the colors between black and purple. After finishing the stitches and covering them with a patch, Damien wraps them in gauze just to be sure. There is a tattoo on the back of his right hand; at some point, an Old One has apparently marked him. As far as he knows, it is not custom to turn a Claimed One, but it is known to happen anyways. 

When everything is done, he sits back onto the carpet with a deep sigh and tries to process the situation when he hears a noise from the door and looks up. Lucien stands in the doorway, his mouth slightly open as he processes the half-naked, bruised man on their couch. Damien offers him a weak smile and gets up as quickly as possible.

“What the fuck, Dad,“ Lucien says and ignores his automatic, “Language, Lucien,“ in favor of stepping further into the room. “Is he a fricking _vampire_? Why is there a knocked-out vampire on our couch in the middle of the night?!“

“I think he is our neighbor,“ Damien offers. Together with Lucien he stares down at the unconscious vampire in silence for a few moments before he adds, “He is probably quite malnourished, so I’ll try to feed him when he wakes up.“

“Are you _serious_?“ Lucien screeches and throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have cannulae or all that other stuff for a transfusion here, you’d have to feed him by letting him bite you! You can’t do that!“

“If he does not get some blood into him, he will probably collapse, Lucien,“ Damien patiently says. There is reason in Lucien’s worry, so he reaches out and pats his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern. I could call someone to assist me while he – during the process, to minimize the risk.“

“Assist you? Who would assist you with that?!“

Damen thinks for a moment. “Mary,“ he eventually says with conviction. “You know, Mrs. Christiansen? As far as I know they are friends and Mary is a werewolf, so she is capable of holding him down if it comes to the worst.“

Lucien still does not look very convinced and anger is burrowed deep into the wrinkles between his brows, but his shoulders are a little more relaxed than before. “Okay, but I’ll be there with enough silver to kill the motherf—the guy if he gets funny ideas, like sucking you dry.“

“I don’t think that will happen,“ Damien says. He cannot help but smile warmly, even as Lucien’s scowl deepens. “I will call Mary right away, I am quite sure that she is still awake. Perhaps the two of us will manage the process before he properly wakes up.“ 

“Fine,“ Lucien grumbles and walks out of the room to re-enter shortly after, carrying two heavy silver chandeliers with him, as well as Damien’s rapier. Damien chuckles at the sight, feeling strangely touched as Lucien sets the chandeliers down onto the table between the sofas while Damien dials Mary’s number. 

She picks up at the third ring. Damien thinks that he can hear faint music in the background, but he is not entirely sure. “Dames! What can I do for you? Why aren’t you asleep like all the other good citizens of this town?“

“Good evening, Mary,“ he greets her with a small smile, even though she cannot see it, “I apologize for bothering you this late, but I assure you that it is quite urgent. You see, it is – about our neighbor. Robert, I think?“

That gets Mary’s full attention. “Yeah? You seen ‘im lurking around? Sometimes he passes out on the street, just leave him be. The trash men always roll ‘im back onto his lawn – or what’s left of that patch of dry grass.“

Damien hesitates for a moment. “He was on my stairs? Bleeding? Bleeding profusely, to be precise. So I took him in and did my best to aid him. However, I think that he is severely malnourished. By the time I did the stitches, the wound still had not started to heal.“ 

“What the shit?“ Mary curses some more and Lucien stares at him quizzically when he almost shakes his head. Almost. “That shouldn’t be. He’s got sort of an – agreement with Joseph. Whatever. He’s not supposed to run around half-starved. Shit! That’s probably why he looked even trashier than usual this week! That son of a bitch.“

“Unfortunately I do not have the proper equipment for a medical blood transfusion at home,“ Damien continues as Mary has stopped cursing, “but I am ready to assist him anyways, so I wanted to ask you whether you be so kind and-“

“Oh, no, no, no, honey,“ Mary interrupts him almost harshly, “You won’t do that. I’ll come over and bring you all the stuff you need, I’ll even assist you with it, but I won’t allow you to get bitten by a ravenously hungry vampire – and Rob is a messy biter on top of that. Blood would get everywhere.“

Damien thinks of his wooden floor and sighs. “Well, that would be great as well, Mary.“

“I’ll be over in a few,“ Mary promises and hangs up before he can get out another word.

“There will be no biting involved,“ Damien informs his son, who is still waiting in the doorway like a sullen, lanky watchdog. “Mary will come over and assist with a transfusion, so there is no need to be worried.“

“No need to be worried,“ Lucien echoes and snorts. “Yeah, right, Dad. Still hope you know what you’re doing here.“

“Yes, me too,“ Damien murmurs and sinks on the unoccupied couch to rub his eyes. It seems as if the night is not over yet.  
 


	2. Head's Splitting At The Seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will AO3 finally let me upload this damn chapter? Let's hope so. Anyways, thank you all so much for the interest the first chapter has gotten, I hope I'll continue to deliver!
> 
> Chapter title is from "Welcome Home" by Radical Face.
> 
> Come and say hello or gush with me about DDADDS at thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com!

The first thing Robert feels is a hand in his hair. “Joseph?“ he wants to ask, but even now, in this floating state between dream and consciousness, he knows that Joseph would never do this. There is ruffling, shoulder-clapping, back-rubbing and razor-sharp, friendly smiles if he is lucky, but never fingers gently threading through his hair. He feels weak as a kitten, his mind completely clouded over. What happened? There was night, he knows, and a fight with Joseph about things he had seen – and blood. His own. 

His throat is parched. Gradually the pain sets in, a burning sensation across his chest. He can feel two other people in the room – can hear their heartbeats. One of them he knows: Mary, harsh and steady like a ship during a storm, beating, beating, beating on with double the speed of a human heart. The other is unfamiliar, but it is not a werewolf and no animal, no well-fed vampire either. Human, then. His fangs ache in his mouth; he does not remember when the last time was where they were not fully elongated. He has been hungry for days now, for weeks – tries to prove himself something that is so fruitless, that can never succeed, but Robert has always been stubborn.

He feels less shitty than he has in the last couple of days. He is lying somewhere, somewhere comfortable; a couch, maybe. There is the smell of lavender, just a faint note in the air. Robert inhales deeply, notices that his heart is beating again, his lungs fill with air. Someone is giving him life. Mary? The unknown human? No, Mary’s blood makes his head rush and his veins burn, what he feels right now – a strange sort of awakening, as if everything is more real than usual – is not like that at all. The human, then. But even for a human it is strange since usually human blood just strengthens him, but in a milder way than this, a stream of life instead of a shock.

Robert opens his eyes.

The fingers that were gently carding through his hair come to a halt. Dark, soulful eyes smile at him – underneath that: An expressively aquiline nose, cheekbones so sharp they could cut through steel, thin lips slightly curved upwards, a jawline with hard corners. A beautiful face framed by carefully maintained dark brows and long hair drawn upwards into a ponytail. Robert can see a heart tremble underneath purple fabric as he follows the aorta down along a sinewy arm. At the end of it, a cannula. Robert’s eyes follow the thin tube to its other end and finds it in his own arm. Nothing makes more sense now, but at least he knows why he feels less shitty, even though his chest is burning, apparently trying to heal up as best as possible. He knows that what that guy offers him for unknown reasons will be nowhere near enough because it _never_ is and the fact makes him groan and reach for the cannula in his arms with every intention of simply ripping it off.

“Don’t you dare,“ Mary’s lovely words immediately cut into him and he freezes like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You’re gonna lie down and take it like a good boy, just like always. The only difference is that it won’t hurt this time.“ The pain her words cause with their ugly truth prick into his skin like a thousand small needles. She knows that he has no choice now, but there was a time where he had one and he chose wrong. “Jesus fuck, Robert, what the hell? At least try to kill yourself with a little more style because this? It’s just pathetic. Dames is helping you out here big times, least that you could do is be nice and say thank you.“

“Never asked for it,“ Robert manages to snap and glares at her when Mary’s head pops up in his field of vision. Her facial expression is slightly bemused, which he guesses is only fair. This is not the first time he has managed to outdo himself, only usually it is the other Christiansen that picks him up when he falls. Even though picking up is probably the wrong term. 

“It’s alright, I am pleased to see that you are already feeling better,“ the human says with a little tilt of his head. Black hair falls forward and brushes over his collarbones and chest, lavender and sweat clinging on pale skin. Blue veins, blue veins everywhere – in hands with long fingers that could belong to a pianist, in arms not muscled like Craig’s, but not noodly like the arms of Craig’s daughters either, on a neck that bears an almost elegant slope. The guy talks like a fucking novel and looks the part, too. Robert is almost disgusted and yet continues to stare at the aorta on the guy’s neck. “My name is Damien Bloodmarch. I am your neighbor – in fact I found you on my doormat. Currently you are in my house. I apologize for the disarray, but we just moved in and I have not found the time to complete the interior decoration yet.“

Robert barks out a disbelieving laughter. He can immediately _hear_ Damien flush, sees the redness creep up into his pale cheeks and it takes a while before he tears his eyes away. For a moment he almost feels sorry, so he finally grunts, “Thanks.“

“You’re welcome.“ Damien Bloodmarch is polite, but not in the way that Joseph is polite. He does not wield it like weapon and shield and the smile when he speaks is mainly in his eyes. His hands are steady when he pulls the cannulae out of their arms and unnecessarily dabs at Robert’s puncture wound before doing the same on himself, like it is a routine of some sorts. He does not put a bandage on it. Robert almost smiles. “Here, have some water.“

His fangs do not clink against the glass when he empties it in long, hasty swallows; for the first time in weeks, they have retreated far enough into his gums that they are on the same length as a human’s canines. The need is still there, the Call pulls on his insides, whispers in his heart, but for the moment Robert is able to ignore it and he sits up, raises his arms and enjoys the stretch in his muscles. Mary with her unmistakable scent of too much wine and cigarette smoke mingled with the faint, stale traces of yesterday’s perfume winks at him. It is that moment where he fully registers that he is half-naked on his neighbor’s couch. The room is painted in two different colors separated by a white line; Robert can still smell the paint in the air. There is a dark carpet on the floor, perhaps a Persian rug. At least the shit looks expensive. Atop of it, a white couch table with two heavy silver chandeliers. Robert’s lips curl up in immediate disgust at the sight of them, but there is a part inside of him that appreciates the caution. There are two sofas with intricate patterns in light blue and white on each side of it, one of them he occupies, on the other rests an elegant rapier in all innocent challenge. The rest of the room is visibly a work in progress, at least there are neatly stacked boxes along the walls that prove Damien’s talk about some kind of disarray. Robert almost laughs again. Even now, Damien’s house looks neater than his own has in years.

“Where’s my shirt?“ he asks him and raises a brow when Damien flushes even more, his heartbeat picking up a noticeable rate.

“I, uh, I have to apologize, I think. There was not much left of it, so I threw it away. I considered mending it, but it was hopelessly torn and bloodied. But allow me to give you this.“

“That’ll do, I guess.“ The shirt that Damien hands him is of an unassuming white and must be one of his own because Robert immediately smells faint traces of lavender everywhere as soon as he pulls it over his head. Since it is not unpleasant and Mary’s gaze is way too challenging to deny the courtesy, he decides to just roll with it and shrugs on his leather jacket as well. For a brief moment he thinks of Joseph’s nostrils flaring at the foreign component. Would he be surprised? Would he even care at all, between a failing marriage and children fresh from a horror movie? Robert decides that he is way too sober for this shit; the fresh blood has cleared away all traces of alcohol in his system.

“Well, we’ll leave you be now, honey,“ Mary tells Damien and pats his cheek in an absurdly motherly fashion that Damien responds to with a smile while Robert snorts and starts to pat his jacket in search of his cigarettes. “Go try to get some sleep, I’m gonna take it from here. Thanks for helping the idiot. Oh, and tell me when you’ve set up your taxidermy collection, I can’t wait to see it!“

Robert stares at her before he stares at Damien when the man beams, “I would be delighted! I will invite you for tea as soon as I have finished my work around here. It might still take a while, however, but I promise I will not forget.“

“I know you won’t,“ Mary assures him and after saying goodbye – Robert silently watching – she begins to shove Robert out of the room across a dark hallway and through an even darker door. Why she even bothers is beyond him since he literally lives next door and now that he is not dying anymore he can handle the short walk on his own.

It gets clearer when she waits until he has unlocked his home and already starts to walk inside. It is then that Mary’s hand quickly shoots forward and squeezes his own so hard that it hurts. He bites back a reply and stares her down, ash falling from the newly lit cigarette in his mouth.

“You and I both know who did this,“ Mary says with a nod to his chest and she completely ignores the way his face involuntarily twists at that. “But I thought you had an agreement. What the fuck happened, Robert? And don’t you dare lie to me, I will know.“

She always knows. The words stick in his throat for a long while. His hands tremble and he stares at them in apathy. When has it started, this downfall of his life? When has been the first time he felt like he could not breathe like he does now, his head reeling with shreds of memories? “I can’t remember exactly,“ he finally murmurs, which is the truth. “I must not speak of it.“ And that is the truth, too. But he can dream of it, and think of it, and both the nightmares and the thoughts will keep him awake for hours and hours to come.

Whatever it is that Mary sees in his face, it causes her to relent and let go of his hand. “Alright,“ she says after a slight pause with a deep sigh. In the soft, rosy hues of a newborn morning the lines of her tired face looks even more unforgiving and Robert lifts a hand to smooth one of her curls behind her ear. Mary smiles at that, but the smile is tired as well. Tired, tired – it seems as if that is the only thing they are capable of feeling these days. “Get inside before the sun hits you full on,“ she says after a while, “Damien’s blood is good, but he didn’t give you enough for that.“

“Why d’he do it?“ Robert asks before he can stop himself. He does not know why he even bothers; perhaps it is the smell of lavender still clogging his nose as he lifts the cigarette to his lips.

Mary shrugs. “You know,“ she says with the same sharp smile Joseph sometimes wears in certain moments, “I think that people like us, we’re so constantly thinking of exclusively our own lifes and problems that we forget that there are people who sometimes think of others as well.“

 

 


	3. Choke On Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a bit of delay, the third chapter!  
> Title is taken from "Welcome Home" by Radical Face again.

Lucien has been in his school for only ten days when Damien gets a call to please come by immediately.

Perhaps he should not be surprised. After all, he frequently visited Lucien’s old school as well, so why should it be any different here in a new town? Perhaps he has neglected Lucien a little in the last few weeks, but overall he thought that they have settled in nicely. Lucien did not tell him that something was wrong at school, only grunted something about dumb teachers and even dumber kids, but that is something Damien has expected since Lucien has a hard time making friends. It always takes him a while to warm up to people and nowadays most of them do not have the time to show patience. In a way, Damien can understand; it is easier to label his son with his frowning face and white and grey undercut as a rebellious punk than help him settle in. That does not mean that Damien approves of it, but it is something he cannot influence. 

When Damien leaves the house, the sun stands high in the sky. It has become a habit to throw a quick glance towards the house on his right whenever he comes and goes, even though he has only seen glimpses of Robert after helping him a couple of days ago. Sometimes they greet each other when they pass each other at night or evening, but Robert always looks a little annoyed and uncomfortable. Damien is starting to accept it as his default expression and wonders more about the fact that Robert does not seem to have enough blood income to be able to go outside during the day. Should there not be an Old One taking care of his needs by providing enough blood, usually from blood bags donated by vampire-friendly hospitals. Then again, it is none of his business. His business is his son, so Damien gets in the car and drives towards Lucien’s school with the feeling that he will cover that particular distance quite often in the future. 

It is particularly hot today, almost unbearably so, which is why he has decided to completely forego any make-up and instead wears shades with dark round glasses. There has even been a moment where he considered leaving his binder at home, but since he has to put himself out there to defend his son’s honor, for which he needs to be as comfortable as possible and look as best as he can to accomplish the first step, that was no real option. The car’s air conditioner is a blessing, but he dreams of the moment where he can retreat into the house again as soon as he has left it. Perhaps he should consider leading a life entirely at night as well.

When he arrives at Lucien’s school, it takes him about fifteen minutes to find the teacher that called him in the garden, a tiny woman with long, dark hair and pearls on her ears. Along with her: An exasperated-looking gentleman with glasses and a moustache, a youth with unruly, dark locks and an orange hoodie, and Lucien Bloodmarch himself. Damien briefly smiles at his son to show his support before he turns towards the teacher and the other gentleman with a small bow. “Good day, my name is Damien Bloodmarch. I am Lucien’s father.“

He is not in his best attire due to the heat today, dressed only in dark slacks and his favorite shirt in burgundy with a dark lapel vest on top of it, but the teacher still stares at him for a moment before she shakes her head and points accusingly at Lucien and the other youth. “Lucien and Ernest not only skipped two lessons, they were found smoking here. Right in the courtyard. Our school forbids smoking on the entire property.“

Damien’s heart lurches funnily and he cannot help but pinch his nose while the other gentleman just sighs very, very deeply. While the other youth looks even more annoyed after the teacher’s words, Lucien at least has the decency to look down on the ground with something resembling mild guilt on his face. “I apologize profusely. Lucien was allowed to smoke in the courtyard of his old school, perhaps he forgot the new rules, but skipping classes is unacceptable. There will definitely be consequences.“

“Since Lucien is fairly new, we’ll let it slide with three days of detention, but Ernest-“, and with that she turns her head to the other gentleman, “-has been here long enough to know the rules, Hugo. One day of suspension.“

Hugo actually looks surprised at that, his moustache slightly bristling. “Well, you can be sure that I’ll find a suitable punishment in addition, Sarah.“

“I am sure you will,“ the teacher sighs and shakes her head. “Alright, well, they are suspended for the rest of the day. I’ll cover your classes so you can take him home, Hugo.“

“Thanks, Sarah,“ Hugo, who seems to be a teacher here as well, tells her gratefully. After a quick goodbye towards Damien she walks away and leaves them both alone. Damien is surprised when Hugo turns towards him with a resigned smile and offers him his hand. “I have the feeling that we will see each other quite often again under similar circumstances. My name is Hugo Vega, this is my son Ernest.“

“Nice to meet you,“ Damien says and shakes Hugo’s hand with a firm grip before they both make their way back, followed by their sons who start to whisper quietly among each other as soon as Hugo and Damien have turned their immediate attention away from them. “I have to admit that I am glad, in a way, that I am not the only parent who seems to get regularly summoned to such – incidents.“

“Ha! No, you’re not, I’m a regular guest as well,“ Hugo sighs deeply. “So you moved here recently? Welcome to the neighborhood! If you need anything, you can ask me anytime, I’d be glad to help.“

“That is very kind of you,“ Damien says and is too thrown off his guard to mask the surprise in his voice. When he and Lucien pile into his car a few minutes later, there is a new number saved into Damien’s phone and Hugo waves at them when they pass by. Damien waves back, smiling. Then he turns to Lucien and says, “Lucien.“

Lucien immediately sinks deeper into his seat, looks out of the window and does not reply, so Damien continues, “You promised me not to smoke anymore until you are older. You are too young, it is unbecoming and unhealthy, especially for someone with your special heritage. I…please. It worries me when you smoke.“

“You’re not mad about the rule violation?“

Damien shrugs and wonders how his son can still be afraid of his anger in such matters when he tends to be way too lenient with him. It is not his fault that he perceives the world around him a little differently from other people, but Damien does not voice this out loud; he knows that Lucien does not like to be reminded of it. “Nobody was harmed except for yourself. I’m worried about your health, not about your school’s courtyard.“

Lucien says nothing for a moment, but from the corners of his eyes Damien can see him worry on his lower lip with his teeth. He is still such a boy sometimes, even though he is in that age where he tries to be as tough and mature as possible. Damien’s heart swells with affection, but he does his best to contain himself. His eyes are concentrated on the road when Lucien says very quietly, “Sorry, Dad.“

“It’s alright, son,“ Damien gently assures him and pats his hand for a moment before he puts it on the steering wheel again. “So, that Ernest boy – is he nice?“

“He’s a dumbass,“ Lucien immediately says and proceeds to tell him exactly in how many ways Ernest Hemingway Vega is a dumbass for the duration of their trip back home. For all he complains, he seems to be fond of him and Damien smiles while he is listening to him. It is good to make friends; they are both not very adapt at it, so this is a good start.

Back at home, Damien immediately goes to sleep. The heat gets to him big time by now, if he wants anything get done today, he has to work in the evening, maybe into the early night hours. When he wakes up again, he walks into the kitchen to prepare dinner wearing glasses, a messy hairbun and a tightly belted black morning gown, his naked feet a blessing on the cool tiles. Just like the rest of the house the kitchen is not fully equipped yet, but the essentials are here: fridge, hot plates, glasses made from fine glass, cups made from china so thin that they are way sturdier than they look, cutlery all in silver except for a selected few pieces. A black round table suitable for about four to five persons, a blue vase in the middle of it. Damen has stopped wishing for many people visiting at the same time, it is never going to happen. There is a price to pay for everything.

While he cooks and listens to Springsteen’s ‘I’m on Fire‘, his gaze wanders out of the window and falls on Robert’s lawn. Robert is standing there motionless, his head turned the other way, a glinting red light shimmering between his fingers, a comet in the darkness when he brings it to his lips and lowers it again. Damien looks at him for the length of one breath, another, motionless, and Robert continues to stare at the other house, the other house where an anchor is surrounded by artificial light that illuminates the darkness and blends out all stars. He does not know nor understand what is going on in that other garden, but he knows loneliness when he comes across it, so he opens the window and says softly without raising his voice, “Good evening, Robert. The night is a blessing after a hot summer’s day, isn’t it?“

Robert does not even flinch, does not strain to hear his voice. Damien knows that he not only hears every word, he knows that Robert listens to his heartbeat right now, registers every change in it, every movement he makes, that he smells every slight component of his scent. There is no chance to pretend with a vampire, not even with one that only changed due to the bite of an Old One – even though they do not possess the abilities of an Old One, not by far. Perhaps that is a blessing. “Yeah, guess so.“

“Would you like to come inside and have dinner with my son and me, perhaps?“

Robert snorts and finally not only turns in his direction, away from the artificial light around the anchor, but he also steps closer. “Can’t eat like that.“

Damien smiles. Robert looks tired and ragged, but there is light in his eyes that reflects in the glowing end of his cigarette. “I know, even though it is not quite correct. But please trust me when I tell you that I know how to make something you can consume. You look like you could need some vitamins.“

Robert stares at him for a long time before he snorts once more. “Sure, what the hell,“ he mutters and extinguishes his cigarette rather unceremoniously against the wall of his house. “I wanna see that. Need to be a god damn wizard to make that happen.“

While Robert steps back and makes his way to Damien’s door, Damien briefly considers changing attire, then races into the next room and pulls up a shirt and some pants from one of the still not yet sorted boxes to pull them on rather unceremoniously in an attempt at hospitality before he opens the door. Robert’s gaze falls on the changed clothes, but he does not comment on it, instead he raises a brow and steps inside, following Damien into the kitchen where he leans against the table like someone who does not know how to belong. Damien can relate.

“Please have a seat,“ he says and watches Robert eye one of the seats with high backrests carved from black wood and made comfortable with red cushions before he simply yanks one of them out and sits down on it, seat facing Damien. Damien hides a smile and sets to work, putting the juice of an entire lemon into the mixer, then adding bananas, strawberries and raspberries. Last, but not least he takes one of the kitchen knives and quickly slices his thumb open before his brain can reconsider – that is the trick of it, he knows, has done it enough times before. Robert immediately curses loudly at the sight and half-rises from his seat as the note of iron hits his nose and Damien makes sure that enough blood drips into the mix before he looks for a bandaid, trying his best to ignore the pulsating ache of the cut.

“What the shit!“ Robert yells and stares at him like a madman before the door bursts open and Lucien stands in the doorway, wild eyes darting back and forth between his father and the vampire. Damien suppresses a hysterical laughter at the situation and clears his throat.

“I’m surprised your Claimer did not tell you this,“ he says, “Those that were bitten still need the same nutritients humans need and they can easily consume it when it is mixed with a bit of blood. Now please excuse me-“

Whatever Robert says next is drowned out by the loud noise of the mixer, but judging from the almost star-struck look on Lucien’s face it is a string of curses of the likes that usually are never said in this house. Damien cannot help but smile and blends out the ache in his hand. 

When he puts the glass down in front of Robert and a tiny bit of the tight-pinched look of pain on his face vanishes, he thinks that it is worth it.


	4. This Hopeless Itch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely support, I'm glad people enjoy this so far :D
> 
> WARNING: There is sex in this chapter. It involves Robert, Joseph, blood play, knife play and breath play. If you want to skip it, just stop reading when Robert reaches the yacht.
> 
> Title of this chapter is taken from "Purple Yellow Red and Blue" by Portugal.The Man.
> 
> You can talk to me at thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com. ;)

Robert doesn’t get surprised very often anymore, but his neighbor has just managed to completely throw him off-balance, especially when he calmly sets a glass full of fucking Bloody Smoothie or whatever it is in front of his face like it’s nothing. “Where do you know all this sh—stuff from? Hi, by the way,“ he adds in direction of the youth who stares at him in a mixture of delight and terror. “Name’s Robert.“

“This is Lucien, my son,“ Damien says and the pride in his voice is overwhelming as he beams at the teen who listlessly makes a small bow and murmurs a greeting. Well-mannered, even though he tries to act though – it is kind of amusing how awkward teenagers can be.“Please, give it a try. I promise that you are going to be able to digest it without problems.“

“You ignoring my question on purpose?“ Robert asks and takes a sip, waits for the cramping, burning sensation in his intestines that feels like dying and feels nothing, not even after a few moments, so he downs the whole thing in a matter of seconds. For the glorious blink of an eye, he feels – good. It’s the first time since he died that he’s tasted something else than blood and it’s glorious, this suden revea of possibilities, so he revels in it for a while. Then reality kicks in and he watches Damien put noodles with tomato sauce on two plates, one of which he hands his son, before he refills Robert’s glass with more of that smoothie. The cutlery is made of solid silver, but with a look at him Damien carefully gathers two plastic spoons before both Bloodmarches sit down, Damien next to him, Lucien on Damien’s other side.

“No,“ Damien says after a slight pause and Robert watches Lucien’s head jerk up as if pulled by invisible strings, driven by unveiled curiosity at his father’s next steps. “I am just not sure where to start.“

“We’re Untouchables,“ Lucien comments without having been prompted to and digs into the noodles like it‘s nothing, like he has not just said that they are familiars of an Old One, touched by his blood, protected by his sigil for the rest of their lives.

Robert almost chokes on too many fucking vitamins and takes a moment to catch himself with the help of Damien patting his back. “What the f- are you serious right now? Jesus – why did you let me drink from you? You wanna see me dead that badly? They‘re gonna hunt me down like a fricking doe!“

“Nothing of the sort,“ Damien says gently, “It was my lover, Lucien’s father, who gifted us with this blessing. He passed away when Lucien was but a little child. So you are safe – safer even than you could imagine, since using my blood, if given to you freely, cannot be considered a break in whatever Claim may hold you, at least as far as I know.“

“So you know that too,“ Robert grunts and wants to smash his head against a wall or drink three bottles of whiskey straight just to feel the alcohol race through his veins like burning poison, eating him alive. How the hell does he always find himself in situations like that?

Damien sends him an apologetic smile. “I could not help but notice the tattoo on the back of your hand when I patched you up.“ There is a small pause and Robert stares at Lucien, who stares back at him without any hint of shame and visible fascination. “You know – I know that you very likely are not allowed to talk about the nature of your Claim, but since you were not even taught that this-“, he gestures towards the glass in front of Robert, “- is possible, I cannot help but think – what I want to say is that I will gladly help you out when you need it. Nobody should go hungry when there is no need for it.“

 

Damien’s words echo in his mind when a few weeks later the Call finally hauls him in like the tide washes all drowned sailors ashore in time. There‘s the offer of an Untouchable, yes, but there‘s also the Claim and he can‘t – he just can‘t. So he stays away from the house, even though he sometimes watches through the crack in his curtains as Damien starts to paint his house black like a manic Gothic dream straight from a novel. He watches him walk out in fancy clothes from another century and walk in with glasses and a ponytail, watches him haul that son of his into the car and out of it, watches him carry boxes and furniture into the house every other day. It would be easy to walk over and ask him for a little more; something tells him that Damien would even be delighted. But things are never easy like that in the real world and so he doesn’t pursue the gift that‘s offered to him, but gives in to the Call instead, weak again from weeks of missing blood and other nutrition, weak in heart and mind. He is beckoned and he walks mindlessly while the sun burns him with its smile and his head is fogged with too many aches at once. The ache for blood – the ache for booze. The ache for pain. The ache for relief. He knows that at the end of the day there will be at least satisfaction for two of them. Perhaps.

The skin on his hands, neck and face is blistering when he arrives at the harbor, but he knows that Joseph likes it. And sure enough Joseph stands at the railing of his yacht and tuts at him in worry when he grips the ladder and climbs upwards. His smile is like the sun, his eyes twinkling like bottomless oceans hit by lighting. Robert gravitates towards it, helplessly lost, a sick ache twisting his inside when Joseph grips his jaw without taking care of the blistering skin and forces his lips open with teeth and tongue and sharp smiles. 

“Poor darling, look at you,“ Joseph murmurs against his lips and Robert can‘t move an inch, couldn’t even if he tried to, “So miserable when I don’t take care of you. Let me do this…you must be starving…I’m sorry, darling, but you know how it is – so many mouths to feed, I’m busy all the time!“

Robert wants to smash his perfect white teeth out, wants to connect his fist with that beautiful face and shatter the illusion once and for all. Instead he gets dragged downwards, into the ship’s belly without delay. It’s Joseph who is hungry, Joseph whose eyes are almost completely black with ravenous taste, Joseph who is on top of him in a matter of seconds, who hurts where his skin is burnt and blistering and his chest cut in half by a new scar. Joseph kisses it with devotion, humming underneath his breath as he undresses Robert and opens his own belt. Energy is pouring out from every pore of him and leaves Robert’s throat dry. He arches up in Joseph’s grip, his cock throbbing in fearful need when Joseph yanks the knife out of Robert’s jacket and slides the blunt slide over his skin along his throat down to his trembling chest and across his hips. Coolness, coolness of steel on him; Robert goes mad with want, his fangs elongated to full length in his mouth so that he’s unable to close his lips, confined to lay there panting through his open mouth if he doesn’t want to cut himself. 

“So hungry for me,“ Joseph murmurs, his breath starting to become harsher when he makes the first cut underneath Robert’s hip and hears the scream. The screaming is part of it; by now Robert knows what Joseph wants, expects of him and he is nothing but a limp doll when Joseph leans down and licks at the cut with all of his sharp teeth sinking into the flesh at once. There is the pain, but there is also the burning sensation of heat that causes Robert’s eyes to water and his cock to harden, a heavy, twitching weight against Joseph’s cheek before Joseph leans up again and looks into his eyes as he cuts his throat open. Robert can feel the blood splash out in thick rivulets, coating Joseph’s fingers and chin and lips as he laps on it, his hips grinding against Robert’s in the process. He wonders if he is going to die like this, but knows that Joseph won’t let him – he wanted to the last time when he left him cut open on the streets, but he doesn‘t want it now. The tattoo on Robert’s hand pulsates and he chokes out a sob as Joseph starts to heal the cut on his throat with bruising kisses.

“Please,“ he gasps out unthinkingly as Joseph slashes open his arm and drinks from him there, in the same moment gripping his hips tightly enough to leave dark bruises as he presses them flush together. In an instinct Robert wraps his legs around him and Joseph grunts in pleasure, releasing the belt from his pants in a fluent motion that Robert dreads and desires at the same time. He is dying and Joseph is his only salvation, so he arches up again when Joseph ties the belt around his throat and pulls, pulls, pulls, pulls until Robert sees flickering stars, sees the universe spread out in Joseph’s infinite black eyes, in the unbearable pain that causes him to claw against Joseph’s arms in useless rests of survival instinct. He rips his own lips open with his teeth when he sobs in pain, hacking coughs that do not stop when Joseph lets go of the belt.

“Choke yourself,“ Joseph says and Robert obeys without thinking, pulls tight, tight, tight until he sees eternal new moon in Joseph’s infinite old eyes while Joseph kneels between his spread legs and drags his own cock through his own fist until he comes with a deep, satisfacted sigh all over Robert’s chest, his skin radiating with energy and warmth, his hair golden like the necklace of a queen. He smiles down at him and his smile is the sun, his eyes are the universe as he opens the belt and carelessly throws it away before he kicks Robert from the bed with renewed power. “Kneel.“

And Robert does, kneeling in front of the bed covered in his own blood and Joseph’s cum, pain pulsating through cuts all over him, his throat sore enough that he can‘t even whisper anymore. Still he opens his mouth when Joseph tells him to, closes his eyes when Joseph slices his own arm open and holds it above his face. Black blood drips against his mouth and he laps it up without thinking, without thinking at all, his chest heaving and his cock so heavy, so tight between his legs. Joseph watches him without a word, with the glinting, unforgivable eyes of a god before he sighs and sits down at the edge of the bed.

“Come here,“ he says softly and pulls Robert between his legs, resting his head against his stomach as he brings his arm directly against his lips. Robert laps at it with closed eyes as his body starts to regenerate, the cuts start to heal. He comes alive again with all his senses, starts to feel and smell and hear again, and he never wants to leave. How stupid to assume that he would ever need anything but this. How blatantly foolish to even consider living without Joseph’s gift. “This is what good boys get. You have been a very good boy for me today, darling…“

Robert says nothing, but after a while Joseph removes his arm and licks the cut to close it, kissing remaining black blood from Robert’s lips. There is no question that Robert is left wanting tonight, but at least Joseph has cared to feed him. The shame sets in when Joseph takes a long look at him, sighs and waves him into the bathroom. The shame settles when he is there, trying his best to remove all of the blood and cum from himself without throwing up. 

By the time Joseph has kicked him from the ship with a dismissive smile and he has started to make his way back home, he is in total need of several drinks – something, anything to cure the remaining ache in his heart, even if it’s nothing but liquid pain. The tattoo on his hand stings in the aftermath, reminding that he is not, and never will be, enough to become an Untouchable, that he will be forever crawling back to Joseph, dreaming of a past that has long since gone up in smoke.


	5. Like A Row of Captured Ghosts Over Old Dead Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while because I was busy moving in with my girlfriend and building a shit ton of Ikea furniture, but here you go!  
> When Damien describes the meaning of the flowers he plants, I oriented myself on a website because I had to refresh my knowledge on flower language, but unfortuntately I don't know which one it was anymore. That's what you get for closing your tabs too soon.  
> The painting he talks about can be found here: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/33/The_Roses_of_Heliogabalus.jpg/1200px-The_Roses_of_Heliogabalus.jpg  
> The bouquet of grass and dandelions was mentioned in a tumblr post somewhere and I found the mental image hilarious and very Robert, so I used it.
> 
> Chapter title taken from "Welcome Home" by Radical Face.

Damien is a worrier. It is in his blood. He worries about Lucien’s health, about whether he is lonely or not, about the earring piercings he has gotten with Damien’s permission – hard to deny that one when he has some himself – and about other things as well: the weather, his house, his appearance, other drivers on the road, bills, taxes, the dogs at the shelter, Mary’s drinking habits. His neighbor, lost in dayshadow and nightlight. He should not worry about Robert, who is an adult and can look after himself, who does not even know him that well and who has not shown up ever since that brief talk in Damien’s kitchen, but as usual he wonders if it has been his fault. There is a price to pay for everything, and being an Untouchable has one, too. 

It is not as if he does not have a life to lead. There are many little things to do before he can rest at ease. It takes him almost two weeks to paint the house in black because he does not want to hire a stranger who has no emotional connection to this home to do it. In a way it is therapeutic: as long as he has to take caution so that he does not fall off the ladder and break his neck while he tries to apply the paint as evenly as possible, he does not have the time to worry. Sometimes he thinks of how much easier everything would be if he was not alone, if there was someone who cared – if Julien was still alive to be here, to be part of it. It is an old ache that has long since stopped to hurt him, but there are days where he misses the father of his child more than usual. 

When the paint is done, he spends another two weeks to finally finish the living room as well as the hallway. At the moment where he decides to turn his attention towards the remaining rooms on the ground floor, which are the small room he intends as a bedroom for guests and a bathroom, his flowers arrive and he immediately abandons all work inside the house to rush direct the men carrying his treasure to the back of the house. The ground is already prepared; Damien has spent two days slaving over the soil, marking future walkways with rows of stones. When the flowers arrive, he knows exactly where he wants every single flower to be embedded, and he fully intends to bring his vision to life without help. For a moment he feels the pure decadence that he always imagined reading Huysmans’s ‘Á Rebours‘ when the shock of colors floods his garden like a torrent made from a painter’s palette. His heart aches at the dripping life streaming around him. Breathing immediately gets easier among dozens upon dozens of pleasant scents mingling in the air. 

He loves them all: acanthus in prideful, tall towers of lilac praising the arts; lovely, gentle pheasant’s eye weeping red in sorrowful remembrance; agrimony in their pleasant shade of sunny yellow that speaks of gratitude for everything he has reached in life; cheeky, honest honeysuckle in orange and hot pink and white in hope for bonds of love he will hopefully find once more before he dies; snapdragon nodding their heavy, red heads in grace; misjudged, silent belladonna in a shock of dark blue; meek, yellow lesser celandine for all the joys yet to come; violet convolvulus smiling with all the love for Lucien; lovely coronella in salmon pink for success; innocent white dogwood with red dots for durability; bright gloryflower in unashamed beauty; the thousand small blossoms of heliotrope with their mesmerizing shade of cyber grape to express devotion and faithfulness; shy, attached jasmine; fiery kennedia for the beauty of the mind; lilac, lilac in abundance, lilac in every color that exists, lilac he carefully plants around the planned pavillon so that it will be filled with the heavy, rich scent. And more, so many more that spill positive meanings all over his backyard and keep him busy until dawn.

Damien is so immersed in gently digging holes into the soft ground to put his plants into them that it takes a while before he notices that he is not alone. In fact, he realizes it only when hands suddenly grip his shoulders and he hears himself scream like a little girl in a haunted house full of real corpses dangling from the ceiling. There is the short bellow of a laugh, then the hands leave his shoulers and Robert drops down onto the ground next to him. He looks rumpled as usual and smells like a whole cabinet of hard liquor, but he is smiling carelessly. Somehow that is what causes Damien to start worrying immediately.

“Shit’s overwhelming,“ he says and sneezes with emphasis. “Covers everything else.“

“Well, that is the point,“ Damien replies and adds, “One of the points anyways. Mainly this is me indulding in a little bit of decadence in an attempt to feel what the people depicted in Alma-Tadema’s painting ‘The Roses of Heliogabalus‘ must feel.“

“I’ve exactly zero ideas what you’re talking about,“ Robert says quite bluntly and without any hint of embarassment. It is a character trait Damien quite likes about him. “Never heard of it.“

“Well, there is a tale that Roman emperor Heliogabalus used to sometimes smother his guests in so many rose petals that some of them died when they were unable to crawl on top of them,“ Damien explains, “The painting shows several people drowning in a sea of rose petals while they are watched by the Roman emperor and his merry round of chosen guests. Whenever I look at the painting I wonder what it must be like to die that way – surrounded by an ocean of petals, by that unmistakable smell of roses. It is, of course, a tale of pure decadence if you define decadence as cultivated corruption, which I tend to do.“

“Cultivated corruption,“ Robert slowly repeats and puts a hand in his leather jacket to pull out a hip flask from which he takes an animated swallow. Damien can see his fangs clear as day. When was the last time he has fed from someone? Was it the day Damien sliced open his thumb? “Sounds nice. I always thought buying unnecessary, super expensive shit nobody needs is decadent.“

Laughter bubbles up in Damien’s chest and he sets it free unthinkingly. “Yes, that is not wrong as well,“ he says and looking around him with a deep inhale, he adds, “But then again, all of that is just…you know, theories that I like to talk about with Hugo to pass the time. I think overall I just love flowers, they make me happy. The Victorians used a refined system of symbolic meaning for flowers in their time. Bouquets could make or break a relationship depending on which flowers were bound together.“

“Shit, I’d be terrible at that,“ Robert mutters with a shake of his head. “I’d probably just grab some grass and dandelions and hand them over – would probably give someone a heart attack.“

“Well, dandelion is quite a positive flower, it can mean recovery and long lasting happiness,“ Damien replies with a chuckle, “And grass symbolizes submission. There is something noble in surrendering yourself to someone else.“

“You wanna tell me a handful of grass would make you happy?“ Robert asks with audible disbelief in his voice and makes a point to stare at Damien’s flowery rainbow behind him. “Your standards are really low, dude. And what you said is bullshit. The part of – of nobleness in submission or whatever.“

“Why do you think that?“ Damien asks in honest, careful curiosity. 

There is a hard line around Robert’s mouth as he stares at Damien’s jasmine. “Because,“ he says and then the words just tumble out of his mouth like a child’s bricks out of their box, messy and wild. “Because there’s nothing noble about it. You just gotta do it. You gotta do it because you’re weak. You can’t take care of yourself, so you need someone who – who fucking does it for you. And then you’re – you’re there and you give so much of a shit about your own worth or your own life that you never get out of someone else’s mercy. You become addicted to it. Submission’s not noble, it’s a fucking trainwreck, a god damn mess someone else is gonna clean up.“

A gentle breeze rustles through the jonquils; Damien watches their heads sway back and forth with sadness before he turns his head back towards Robert, who has brought his attention to the hip flask again. Alcohol is like poison for a bitten one; he must be in pain all the time. It is hard to not reach out for someone who deliberately hurts himself like that, so Damien gently squeezes his hand for a moment and lets go afterward. It is a weak attempt of comfort, but maybe it is appreciated nonetheless. “I am sorry you feel that way, Robert.“ 

“Yeah, well,“ Robert grumbles, “We can’t all live in nice houses and have our shit together enough to hold monologues about decadence.“

“I apologize,“ Damien murmurs quietly and tries to ignore the hot, stinging feeling of shame in his belly. “I am not good with…small talk. Sometimes I forget how it can be perceived. I did not want to annoy you.“

“Gotcha,“ Robert says, “We all have our faults, no harm in that. Can’t say it wasn’t interesting, either, though my interests are more hands-on. Did you get pushed into lockers a lot at high school?“

Something in the way Robert speaks those words takes the sting out of them, so Damien allows himself to laugh lightly. “My teenager years were sort of a nightmare, yes. How did you figure?“

Robert raises a brow and stares at him. Damien sighs and attempts to push up glasses that are not there. “Well, yes. My fascination for the Victorian era manifested early and I was always a bit of an oddball. Things only got better at college – I met Mary there, did she tell you that?“

“Nope, but I’m not surprised. She always only says you’re her special boy. And your lover?“

Damien is not sure why he tells him, but he does anyway. “A little later. I worked for quite a big company then and he was one of their clients. We sort of ran into each other. I think he – he would not have made me an Untouchable if I had not become pregnant. He was rather old-fashioned in some ways and that was the closest thing to marriage he could offer me as protection. I decided to consider it chivalrous – in a way, it is quite lovely, is it not? He did not have to, but he did it anyway. It is not the greatest love story of all time, but he treated me considerably better than most of the lovers I had, so there is that. And he adored Lucien, he really did – children between Old Ones and humans are so rare, he…is a miracle.“

There is nothing he can do to ease the pain that is pinched tight around Robert’s eyes. He half-expects an incredulous question about the pregnancy, but all Robert asks is, “How did he die?“

“Oh,“ Damien says with a small sigh and wipes his forehead in a thoughtless, tired gesture. “When we met, he had already been sick from sadness for centuries. Sometimes we love someone, but there is no cure for them, no matter how hard we try to help them. So he…one day he decided to end it, his existence. There are not many ways for an Old One to die, but he knew all of them.“

“Shit,“ Robert grunts and brings the hip flask to his lips again. “Life’s messed up. Especially when you have to deal with the Old Ones.“

“Well, things are seldom easy,“ Damien replies with a small shrug, “but there is still beauty in it.“ He hesitates for a moment, but then rushes on before he can reconsider. “Look, Robert – let me help you. I could feed you regularly, you know that as an Untouchable I regenerate blood much faster than normal humans. You could live from it quite well until you have figured out other means to survive. There are ways! You do not need the blood of an Old One to live, that’s a lie.“

“Well, things are seldom easy,“ Robert parrots his words back to him and gets up on his feet. He looks angry, but Damien is not entirely sure what his anger is directed at. As it is, the calm feeling of the moment has entirely dissipated, leaving nothing but a bitter aftertaste. It is not what he has been trying to accomplish, but now it is too late. Robert is already in the fight _and_ flight mode, eyes glinting harshly. “And that shit you’re talking about without really knowing anything at all about the situation? Way more messed up than you could imagine, which is just about my luck. Not everyone of us experiences a fairytale romance with an ancient being, no matter how much we want it. Sometimes – things are just complicated and you have no idea what you’re doing. And you gotta deal with it alone.“

Damien only lowers his head and says nothing. What is there to say? He does not watch Robert stomp away with brisk steps; instead he listens to the sounds he makes until they fade away entirely, leaving nothing but silence in his garden, leaving Damien to wonder why he even came. It is the first time Robert has sought him out on his own. To have their encounter end like this – it causes his heart to tremble in his chest with worry and regret as lilac sways gently above his head.


	6. My Heart, Trembling Hard And Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely support, really appreciate it <3
> 
> Chapter title is taken from "Atlantis" by Postiljonen.

For once, Robert passes out and sleeps. He dreams of a flowery rainbow that drowns people and their stench underneath, an ocean of soft, rosy petals that smothers the infinite darkness of the universe. He dreams of Val as a little girl, with tooth gaps and a crooked smile showing him a scratch on her knee. He dreams of Marilyn with her dark hair and dark skin, her laughter fading underneath the sound of screeching wheels. He dreams of Joseph’s blue eyes, the wrinkles around them when he tells a joke he finds particularly delightful. He dreams and wakes up and the day has come to an end. Night has clawed her way back into existence and he gets up to fall right into her arms.

It is easy to get into the car and leave the city, but he never gets far. Just stands on a hill and watches the thousand blinking eyes of the city, softly glimmering in night’s heat. It is easier to think here, which sometimes is exactly what he needs. And sometimes it is just the quiet that he needs, just like now where he hops onto the battered hood of his car and starts whittling away. It is emotional jerking off, in a way, relief for his nerve where relief is so necessary. He thinks of his little girl again and almost cuts his thumb open; serves him right, for leaving her with a bleeding heart. He wonders if she is doing well at college. Robert has not thought about her for months, always trying to evade any surfacing memory as quickly as possible. Perhaps he should never have become a father, no matter how much he loves her. It takes more than love to raise a child and he has never really raised her, has just paid her bills and co-inhabited the same space. No wonder she was gone as soon as possible. And now? And now.

The wood underneath the blade slowly comes to life. It is a little bat with blind eyes and spread wings; he smiles at it for a moment, hands stopping their work as he smooths the pad of his left thumb over the rough surface. Luckily enough he knows someone who he thinks will appreciate it, and he thinks about flowery rainbows again, wonders if Damien is aware of the sadness in his own eyes when he smiles. The forests around him rustle with lower cryptids, nasty little shits drawn to Maple Bay because of the power they can feel there. They are more of a nuisance than an actual fear since they are not able to do anything worse than bite someone in the ankle, but it is fun to go after them and scare them shitless from time to time. He has tried feeding from them, but they offer so little and what he can get from them is always nastily drenched in fear, souring their blood into something tasting like an auto battery, which is not something Robert particularly likes. Perhaps he is just spoiled for all the wrong reasons. 

_You do not need the blood of an Older One to live, that’s a lie._ Robert leaves his car at the hill and walks into the forest until he loses all sense of time and environment. There is just tree and tree and tree and tree and tree, and the full moon hanging trapped between black branches like a fly caught in an abandoned spiderweb. Night has clawed her way back into existence and she is dripping from every tree stump onto the dried grass crunching underneath his feet. There is the low, faint murmur of soft voices in the distance like water washing over a riverbed of polished stones. Robert follows the noise until the graveyard is spread out before his feet, grave stones and chipped crosses and praying angels rising from the earth in a silent plea for peace. 

In the middle of it, on a free grassy space: A black blanket on the ground and a gorgeous man on top of it. Damien in his finest summer attire, a white cotton shirt underneath an emerald-green vest with black pants. His eyes are purple in the silver glow of the moon as he buries his hands with delight in the fur of the giant wolf sprawled out lazily in front of him. Robert knows Mary when he sees her, Mary with her curly fur in soft shades of dark chocolate. She seems to like the attention because every now and then her giant, rosy tongue licks over Damien’s fingers, causing him to chuckle with honest mirth.

“Honestly, by now I’m not surprised to find you here in the middle of the night during a full moon,“ Robert says after he has made his footsteps loud enough for Damien to hear him in time. _You do not need the blood of an Older One to live, that’s a lie._ Robert crouches down next to Damien, breathes in the comforting scent of lavender and pats Mary’s head. “Hey, big girl. I think you need to shave, it’s time.“

He probably deserves that she tries to bite off his hand at that, but he still laughs his ass off. Damien smiles as well, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he cards his fingers through Mary’s fur. “She is beautiful. Of course you always are, Mary, but you’re beautiful like this as well.“ Mary licks his fingers again at that, her tail wagging with obvious pleasure. “I wish Lucien was not severely allergic. I would take him with me in an instant, but sadly that is never going to happen.“

“When Val was a girl, she used to ride on Mary’s back sometimes,“ Robert says, the words grinding over his tongue with old ache. “She was such a tiny, thin girl, Mary didn’t even really feel ‘er. Loved dressing her up, too, brushing her fur and putting bows in it and stuff.“

“You’re very patient with cubs,“ Damien tells her, to which Mary responds with an agreeing growl. “Is Val your daughter?“

“Yeah,“ Robert almost whispers, “She’s, uh, she’s nineteen, now. She’s going to college – she’s very smart.“ Something in his chest bleeds. His eyes are so dry that they start to hurt like his throat, parched from thirst. “Once we went on a trip to Alaska and were snowed in at a tiny motel in the middle of nowhere. And my girl, she just builds a flamethrower from a pack of tissues and apple cider and sets to work. Busts the whole frozen door open like it’s nothing. Little did we know that it was already too late.“

Damien, fascinated, leans forward. “Too late for what?“

“Escape,“ Robert says and sighs deeply. “There had been a virus going around and it infected every single soul in the motel, turned them into some sort of braindead zombies that were after us because we were the last living people in a radius of fifty miles. But I didn’t raise a quitter, lemme tell you that. Val just puts to use what I taught her about knives and we butcher our way through. Brains and bones were _everywhere_. It was super gross.“

Damien stares at him for a long moment with wide eyes and not a single word, because Robert cracks down and starts to cackle manically. Mary huffs with amusement, her tail starting to wag again, knocking against his leg. “I’m just messing with ya. Or am I? Just kidding, just kidding.“ He breathes in sharply, grinning when Damien freezes like a deer caught in the headlight. “Or do I?“

Damien visibly relaxes and does not ask him whether the part about his daughter is real as well. Instead he says with a smile, “It is always good to teach your kids self-defense against possible zombie attacks. I do not know how to wield a knife, but Lucien and me, we regularly went to fencing lessons in our old town. I have to admit that I will try to continue this when everything is finished around the house, taking those lessons always was a good possibility for bonding. Even though he would have better liked to start sword fighting, but I have the opinion that he is too young for that.“

“Why not teach him how to use a gun?“

“Well, you might want to declare me half-mad, but I do not wish to see my son with a gun in his hand,“ Damien admits. “I do not use them myself. There is something so – ugly about guns, about the distance they create between you and the existence you are about to wipe out, as if that would make you less guilty.“

“Yeah, well,“ Robert says with a shrug and scratches Mary behind her eyes. He is tired and hungry and the sky is full of unreachable stars that do not care in the least about his existence. “Sometimes you gotta be quick, you know, and a gun only takes seconds if you know how to use it. But I get it. I only taught Val how to use one before she went to college, you know, so that she can protect herself against any asshole that tries to get to her. Probably one of the only things I got right with her.“

“As a parent you are bound to make mistakes,“ Damien murmurs after a while. When he looks down at Mary, soft whisps of black hair fall over his shoulder. He is lovely like this, a red stone among gray ones, a black feather between rows of green scales. In a reflex, Robert reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind his ears. Damien halts in his movement and looks at him with soft, open surprise. There is something in Robert’s chest that halts his bleeding heart for a while and makes him just look. He understands how someone can fall in love with a face like that. He understands how someone can be captivated by that beautiful mind thinking in unorthodox ways. There is something about Damien that makes one believe that the sun can be kissed from his skin.

“I think you’re doing just fine,“ he croaks out after a while and turns his head away. At his feet, Mary huffs deep and releases something like a sigh before she gets on her paws and stretches in an elegant arch. Then she seemingly simply saunters off, but Robert has noted how her heartbeat has increased significantly. Mary has decided to hunt and there is nothing that can keep her from it. She leaves Damien and Robert to disappear behind graves. Robert reaches into one of his pockets and gets the bat. “Give me your hand.“

“Oh,“ Damien breathes when Robert drops the little bat into his open palm. He can see the blue veins underneath Damien’s milky white skin and is unable to tear his gaze away, his chest shuddering with desire. “How lovely! The bat is such an underrated animal, you know. Is this for me? Oh, Robert…“ He is quiet for a moment, then, very softly, he says, “I do not remember when I last got a present from anyone. Thank you very much, I will honor it as best as I can. Did you make this yourself? You truly have a special talent.“

“It’s nothing,“ Robert says. He whispers it because his fangs are on full length again and dig into his lower lip. Suddenly it is hard to focus on anything but Damien’s steady, strong heartbeat, the blood pumping slowly through his body. _That’s a lie._ Crawling back for more, always crawling back for more; he is sick of it. He wants to get rid of the rough patches on his knees. And yet it really does not make a difference – shame is creeping through his body all the same right now, since his hunger must be so terribly obvious. Not even able to hold a simple conversation – he feels cut off from civilisation, truly a savage. With Joseph, at least the humiliation is inevitable and he gets a kick out of it. With Damien? With Damien –

Damien rolls up one sleeve with unhurried movements and smiles softly. Heat rises up in his cheeks and Robert wants to bite into them to suck at them in devotion; instead he stares, mesmerized as Damien slowly reaches for him and slides a hand into his neck. His skin is warm like summer. His naked wrist is right there underneath his nose. “You have given me such a lovely gift, Robert, let me give you something in return.“ _Too intimate_ , Robert thinks absurdly; whenever he and Joseph exchange blood, they also fuck in the worst possible scenarios. Here, not even a kiss, merely a strip of skin offered to him with a warm smile and eyes that are completely unafraid. And yet? And yet – 

When his fangs breach delicate skin, nothing but warmth floods his mouth. Blood, red like the evening sun, drips from his lips no matter how much he tries to be careful. Damien does not move, but his breath starts to become slower, more laboured. There is a hand in Robert’s hair, not pulling, just resting there, occasionally brushing over it. He finds himself naked without having undressed, laid bare as he drinks with a desperate attempt at suppressing his greed. After a while, Damien gently cradles his heavy head against his chest and holds him there pressed against several soft layers of clothing. Black hair tickles his nose while life is rushing back into him, spreading through his every fibre. His heart, tired and slow, starts to beat with renewed vigor. 

Robert opens his eyes, looks at the stars and sees them smile back at him in sympathy.


	7. In The Darkened House of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always for all of your support, I really appreciate it!!
> 
> Title is taken from "Palace" by Wild Beasts.

Damien walks home at night.

It feels like walking through a dream, his fingers tightly closed around the edges of a little wooden bat. So tacky, so – he breathes in, breathes out with a tremble and almost starts to cry. His wrist tingles where the biting marks cut darkly into the flesh; Mary was right, Robert is a messy biter, but he does not mind. How could he, with Robert walking so close next to him that he can smell the scent of old, worn leather so clearly? They do not hold hands, have not linked their arms, even though they walk next to each other so closely that sparks seem to vibrate between their skin. Damien feels disappointed and glad at the same time. He has forgotten how it is: that spiking of your heartbeat whenever someone special is close to you, the anticipation, the silliness of it all. Perhaps it was the bite, that arousing, intimate process of feeding that people are cautious of for a reason… But Damien is an Untouchable. A bite does not paralyze him to sit still and take it like any other human. Whatever he feels, it is not caused by vampiric poison. 

Robert brings him home and says goodbye by saying nothing at all, gripping his hand a little too long instead. Damien says something and cannot remember what it was afterwards; all he knows is how broad Robert’s back is when he leaves and walks over to his own house. Damien enters his home, closes the door and sits down on the first step of the stair that leads to the first floor to stare into the dark hallway. A silvery strip of moonlight is sprawled out on top of the wood and he smiles helplessly because all it does is remind him of the streaks of grey in Robert’s hair. Lifting the biting mark to his lips, he breathes in deeply, heart wide and fluttering in fearful, nervous anticipation of a treshold that waits to be crossed. Perhaps it was the bite that undid him nevertheless…

The next day, he goes out into the garden and cuts off an armful of lilac. When Lucien comes home from school early in the evening, they stand everywhere in the house in elegant flower vases of dark glass. Lucien takes one good look at them and shrieks, “I’m sick of all this shit! One time in my life I just want to come home to something _normal_!“

The lilac is forgotten immediately. Damien watches his son storm up the stairway with angry muttering, winces when a door is slammed shut. A few moments later: Music so loud that it rattles the walls and must hurt Lucien’s sensitive ears. Damien stands there and stares, and then, unthinkingly, he rushes after his son instead of giving himself a moment to process things. It is the wrong thing to do, really, and he knows it right away, but it is like a ball that has already been dropped, the fall inevitable.

Lucien has not locked his door because there are no keys in this house. The music hits Damien like a brick wall when he flings open the door and strides in. “What is going on with you?“ he yells and it is good, so good to yell against the rage blasting from the stereo, the hot feeling in his chest grasping him like a seizure. “It’s just flowers!“

“It’s never ‘just‘ anything with you!“ Lucien shouts back, but he is the one to turn the volume a little down. His face is flushed, eyes bright and brimming; Damien wants to reach for him and cannot act on it, frozen by hurt and confusion. “Our house is black! You go to meetings with teachers in a cloak and purple contacts like some sort of aging cosplayer! Everyone thinks you’re weird and because of that they think I’m weird, too! And they’re right because I _am_ not like them, and I can’t talk with anyone about it!“ There are the tears, Damien almost absent-mindedly thinks and watches in stunned silence as Lucien sobs violently, angrily. “And now the lilac – again! And you’ve got such a bad taste in who you fall in love with that in the end you’ll cry again and everything will turn to shit, and I can’t stand it, it sours the entire house, I just can’t do it anymore!“

“Well, Lucien, I’m sorry to disappoint you so much with who I am,“ Damien says rather more forcefully than intended. This is his child, Lord be damned, he should not – but he does. He should relent and walk over to his son to wipe the tears from his face – but he does not. “As it is, you’re stuck with me until you’re old enough to move out. I have no idea what happened to make you lash out like that, but I absolutely refuse to play your punching ball.“

This time it is him who closes a door with too much force – and then he is out of the house before he can properly think and try to set things right, gasping for air in a corner of his own garden. Robert was right – the mingling scents are overwhelming – there is not enough air, his lungs are dried up, screaming – he should take a walk, try to get rid of that tight feeling in his chest that makes him feel like he is dying –

The worst of it blows over after a few minutes and he sucks in desperate gasps of air, grateful for life, still panicking, his heart running thousand miles per second. What a responsible adult he is, he thinks: Embarrassing his son, yelling at him, running away to have a panic attack. And now? And now. He. Should. Go. Back inside. Comfort his son. Listen to his problems. Instead he remains where he is, stares blankly at the hedges and feels like crying himself. Perhaps he does; it is hard to say.

There is a hand on his shoulder. When he looks up, Robert is bent over him and stares at him with a critical eye before shaking his head and crouching down in front of him. Trespassing again, Damien thinks a little hysterically and is grateful for it. The pads of Robert‘s fingertips are rough and calloused when he touches Damien’s cheek, but the gesture is gentle.

“You look like shit, Dames,“ Robert says. His words are slow and unhurried. “Can you breathe?“

Damien nods, shakes his head, shrugs. There is a half-smile on Robert’s face before he frames Damien’s face with both of his hands. “Look at me. Breathe.“

Damien looks at him and breathes. Robert looks a little better than yesterday, he notices, his eyes seem less sunken in and hollow. And he is wearing a fresh shirt. Smells very nice too. Whether that hair is combed or not is hard to say, but it looks quite alright. Damien sniffles and closes his eyes. 

“Good,“ Robert says still very unhurried, his hands never leaving Damien. “And now we’re gonna get smashed. Don’t have to talk about it, but if you like to, well. Whiskey and me are listening.“

“I have to apologize to Lucien first,“ Damien whispers. Robert raises an eyebrow and stares at him until Damien chokes out, “I’m a bad father and he hates me.“

“Welcome to the fucking club,“ Robert says with a snort and helps him up. “Come on, you’re a mess. You need some courage?“

“Yes,“ Damien whispers and trembles all over, but he takes a deep breath and releases Robert’s arm where he clutched it. “A drink is actually not a bad idea – I just-“

“I’ll be waiting,“ Robert promises, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Damien nods, chest swelling with helplesss affection that by now just embarrasses him and throws him even more off-balance, then he heads back into the house.

He finds his son in the library, curled up in Damien’s favorite armchair. He is hidden so deeply underneath a blanket that only his red-rimmed eyes and a mop of hair look out, but he watches his father without a word as he stops in front of him. “Lucien,“ he croaks, unable to find the right words, so he finally just continues haltingly, “I should not have yelled at you… I think both of us need a bit of space for now. I will go out for a while and maybe then – or tomorrow – we can talk?“

“Okay,“ Lucien mumbles and avoids Damien’s eyes. He is red-faced and sinks even deeper into the blanket, trembling like a little leaf. Damien remembers him with chubby cheeks and tufts of soft hair, resting against his chest; silly, how someone you love so deeply and unconditionally can hurt you so much so unapologetically. And yet Lucien is a good child. It is not his fault that the inability to talk about matters that cause anger or sadness runs in the family. It is not his fault that he is a teenager with hormones running wild and a heart and mind that feel too much; Damien has been there as well, twice. So Damien bends down and gently strokes his hair in a silent apology, making a surprised noise when Lucien’s thin arms suddenly wrap themselves tightly around him. “I didn’t mean it,“ his son murmurs so quietly that he almost does not understand him, “I didn’t mean it like that, Dad. I just…“

Lucien is a good child. Damien hugs him as well, kisses his cheek when Lucien lets him for once. “We are going to talk about it later,“ he promises. Lucien lets go of him and nods, his face a little less stressed out, and Damien all but runs back to Robert. The tension is still there, trembling in his muscles where it is too early for it to dissolve, but he feels a little better than before.

He is not taken to Jim and Kim’s. Instead, Robert leads him to his own house and opens the door to step inside after him. “Haven’t really cleaned up, but you look like you could use a little more privacy for a breakdown than you’d get in a bar.“

In a way it is quite thoughtful. Damien smiles and nods, taking in the chaos that is Robert’s living room. There is a well-stocked cabinet that does not surprise him in the least, empty bottles strewn around on the floor, a sofa that has been hapzardly cleared from trash and clothes. Damien curls up in one of its corners and sighs deeply. There is a photograph of a little girl on one of the walls, with huge gaps in her teeth and dark pigtails bound with red bows. Her crooked smile is the same as Robert’s, he would have recognized it anywhere.

“That’s Val,“ Robert says and walks over to the cabinet. “What can I get ya? Wine? Beer? Whiskey?“

“Red wine, please,“ Damien answers and then adds, “Hand me the whole bottle if you do not mind.“

Robert croons in delight and falls onto the couch right next to him with two bottles of wine and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, opening all of them with apparent expertice. “Never thought you had it in you, Bloodmarch!“

“I get complicated when I am drunk,“ Damien says honestly, “But – at least I will make it home with relative ease, so there is that. And apparently I am an embarrassing failure in the eyes of my son anyways, so it hardly can get any worse.“

“Dames, every father is a failure in his children’s eyes. Trust me, I’m an expert on this.“

“He called me an aging cosplayer.“ Robert stares at him blankly, then grins in delight when Damien decides to drink straight from the bottle. “That is someone who dresses up as a fictional character. Nevermind.“ He has missed wine, he realizes, the heady, rich taste of it, so he takes another deep swallow and continues, “He said he wanted normal. But what is normal? I have a job with a steady income and I work at an animal shelter whenever I have the time. Isn’t that normal?“

“Look, Damien,“ Robert says and looks almost uncomfortable, “Coming from someone who managed to destroy his daughter’s life, I think you’re doing good. That sounds like a wave of teenage angst to me. Kids are cruel – maybe you just gotta beat up one of them and everything’s gonna be fine. Jesus, is your bottle half empty already? Gotta say I’m impressed. Now I know why Mary is friends with you.“

“I do not believe that violence is an answer,“ Damen murmurs and then, “Do I have the right to be hurt? I mean – is it justified? I should stand above this…“

“Kids can be dicks too,“ Robert replies with a shrug, “They feel the same way if their parents hurt ‘em, why not the other way round? Makes you even more likeable, to be honest, I mean the fact that you’re not brillantly perfect.“ There is a slight pause. “Are you crying?“

“No,“ Damien says and hides his trembling lips behind the bottle. Too much speed, he thinks, unable to stop the trainwreck. “I’m not perfect at anything. Sometimes I feel like I’m barely hanging on a thread.“

“Okay,“ Robert murmurs and gently pats his shoulder. “You told me parents are bound to make mistakes. You know, you say a lot of fancy stuff, but usually there’s a true core. That is one of ‘em. You talk with your kid. I never – I paid for all the stuff Val needed, but I never – y’know.“

“He only has me, Robert,“ Damien says helplessly. The wine is already starting to seep into his head and blood, causing him to blink owlishly. “Everyone else is dead. And he has such a hard time finding new friends – I don’t want him to suffer because of me. But I also don’t want to suffer because of him, I want – I want things for myself, too.“

“Fair enough,“ Robert tells him with a shrug. He stiffens a little when Damien rests his head against his shoulder, but does not pull away. Instead, Damien watches him lift a hand to slowly, steadily wrap an arm around him to pull him closer. Damien follows the gentle motion all too willingly, snuggling up to a body that for once has a temperature close to that of a human, with a heartbeat that vibrates underneath his cheek.

“You’re so nice, Robert,“ he tells him with a deep sigh from the bottom of his heart, “You give yourself too little credit. Thank you for listening to all this so patiently.“

Robert hums a response he does not understand, but it sounds nice. Fingers tangling in his hair – Damien makes the mistake to look up. He can see the tips of Robert’s fangs glimmering behind his lips and wants to ask him if he – if he what? Thinking is hard. Robert is soft, even though his edges are rough enough to bruise – but his fingers are so gentle as they slowly massage Damien’s scalp. Damien looks at him and wants to ask him – what? What? And then – and then. Robert. Leans towards him. And. 

And.

He kisses him like someone might kiss a lover during daytime – soft and gentle, almost distracted, nothing more than the brush of lips upon his own, the tips of his fangs barely grazing over his skin. This is what makes it real, Damien thinks in dazed, wondering amazement as he slides a hand into Robert’s neck and pulls him closer again. He archs up enough that their lips meet again and hears Robert chuckle softly, telling him that he is drunk. And he is, he is, he can feel the wine he has drunk way too fast slosh around in his bloodstream – but he does not care, and tells Robert so. He does not want to think, does not want to be afraid, does not want to –

And Robert, bless and protect him, hums and holds him tightly and does not let go.


	8. Any Way You Want It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not updating for almost a month and then suddenly a chapter that‘s not very eventful apart from a quite drunk Damien on top of it? I‘m sorry. But...at least it‘s something? :,)
> 
> Chapter title taken from Journey‘s “Any Way You Want It“.

Damien, as Robert soon after the second emptied bottle of wine realizes, is awfully intense when he is drunk. It has taken them a few hours, but in these hours Robert experienced one of the most baffling changes in a person that he has ever seen. By now, both bottles of wine are empty and there is not much left of the dignified gentleman Damien usually prides himself to be. He gradually shed every layer of dignity and refinement with every swallow he takes and now he is seated in Robert’s lap, his cravat discarded at the floor and the first two buttons of his shirt open. 

“Dogs, Robert,“ he breathes and yanks him close enough that their noses almost touch and Robert can see very clearly where the purple contacts end, “Dogs are SO AMAZING. The way they just- “ He actually clenches his fist and looks close to crying before he slumps against Robert’s chest again and lets go of his shirt. Robert breathes out slowly and strokes his hair.

“Dogs are great,“ he agrees and almost gets hit in the face when Damien bolts upright and stares at him with wild eyes.

“You should absolutely get a dog,“ he says and then, when Robert tries to say something, yells, “ABSOLUTELY!“ Robert’s ears ring. It reminds him of the one time he made the mistake to let Val eat an entire cake on her own. Shuddering at the memory, he barely manages to catch Damien by his cloak when he tries to do a ninja roll off of the sofa. Damien tumbles back on top of him and says with breathless laughter and determination, “We need to get you a dog. Let’s steal you one.“

“Damien Bloodmarch, ready to commit a crime?“ Robert asks with a grin.

“I used to be a hacker,“ Damien says without batting an eyelash and a sweet smile.

“You’re fucking with me,“ Robert says promptly and without a single attempt to make his voice less inredulous.

Damien shakes his head and starts to tenderly scratch Robert underneath his chin like a ruffled chicken. Actually it is quite nice. “It’s fun, I was pretty good at it. Made quite a bit of money – that helped with the transition! Still would be good at it, I guess, but I totally stopped with everything when I discovered that I was pregnant. I thought: You can’t risk going to prison if you are going to have a child, Damien, not even for darling Mary.“

“Mary?“

“Used to hack into the college system to get her adresses of people she wanted to have sex with. Among other things.“

Robert is stunned and exhilarated. Not because of Mary, that does not surprise him in the least. “Jesus, Damien, you’re a criminal!“

“Shhhhh,“ Damien says and not only puts one finger, but his entire hand against Robert’s mouth to stare deeply into his eyes. “No one has lived to tell the tale.“ Robert wants to tell him that technically that is very much not true since Mary is very much alive next door, but then Damien says, “God, I want to kiss you again, you stupid sexy stubbleman.“

“You’re gonna be so embarrassed tomorrow,“ Robert says and tries to ignore the mixture of flustered embarrassment and utter amusement. Not to mention the dry mouth he gets when Damien looks at him like he does now, his fingers resting against Robert’s chin. “I should make a video. Post it on Dadbook.“

“Noooooo,“ Damien instantly yells and drunkenly tries to shush him by lightly slapping his cheeks. Robert is not turned on, it is just – he needs to shift his weight, that is why he starts to squirm a little under the attention he receives, that is all. “Don’t do that!“

“You gotta convince me, babe, I’m very tempted.“

“I’ll get you a dog! Dogs are AMAZING, Robert. Bob! Oh, my God, you are Bob, Robert-“ And then Damien proceeds to sing the sing from ‘Bob the Builder‘ and cackles like a madman. Robert definitely wants to strangle him, especially when Damien finds to his topform and yodels the entire thing seven times in a row, only stopping when Robert starts to tickle him in despair. “We’ll get you a dog called Scruffy!“

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed, Dames.“ When Robert tries to untangle from him, Damien hugs him with all of his limbs like a lavender-smelling octopus and rubs his head against his shoulder. “Come on, babe. You drank two bottles of wine in lighting speed.“

“I rarely drink!“

“Yeah, I noticed. I’m-“

“Hooked on a feeling!“ Damien starts to sing, grinding against Robert’s leg in rhythm. Robert looks at the ceiling as the fangs start to grow in his mouth, but Damien notices them right away and stops singing. Small mercies at least. He starts when Damien touches the corners of his mouth, then slides his fingertips between his lips. Robert, dazed and thrown off his guard, allows him and watches Damien’s face light up in a brillant smile. “Are you hungry or happy to see me?“

“Both,“ Robert murmurs and closes his eyes when Damien ever so gently pries his jaws apart with surprising nimbleness for the state he is. His fangs elongate even more when Damien starts kissing his way around them, messy but hot. “I’m gonna bring you home now,“ Robert pants with all the strength he can muster, then rolls his eyes back and sinks into the couch like a slain dragon when Damien just mumbles something he cannot understand and presses a spot somewhere behind his fangs. That should not feel good. It is the inside of his mouth. Damien presses his tongue against the pointed tips without hesitation; drops of blood fall on his tongue. “Fucking shit.“ 

This is getting out of control. He has a boner and aches all over. He is not used to being the responsible one, but he is now, putting both arms around Damien and lifting him with all the strength he has left. Damien makes a surprising noise before he settles surprisingly easily into his arms and makes a contented noise. “You’re my horse, Bobby. Count Bobby. Mr. Bob.“

“Okay,“ Robert says and manages to carry Damien out of his house, only causing Damien’s head to hit the doorframe twice. They fumble a little in front of Damien’s house when Damien attemps to do something very indecent, cackling like a crazy chicken all the time, while Robert attempts to do something very decent, namely fishing the keys out of Damien’s pants.

“Shhhhh,“ Damien says very loudly when Robert has finally succeeded and gets him into the house, starting to climb up the stairs after Damien’s instruction, “Don’t wake up Lucien. That’s my son!“

“I know, babe.“

“I love him. Even though he is allergic to dogs. And dogs are AMAZING.“

Robert merely grunts in response and somehow, miraculously, manages to find Damien’s bedroom without causing too much ruckus. When he puts him down on the soft, downy bed – a kingsized canopy bed, he really is not surprised –, Damien attempts the octopus thing again. There is a bit of shuffling around in the darkness before Robert relents and sighs. “You should get undressed. For sleeping.“

Damien actually has the fucking nerve to hoot at that like a teenager laughing about a dick joke, but he finally lets go of him and unclasps his cloak.“You could help me,“ he says, voice suddenly surprisingly soft while he looks at Robert. “And stay afterwards. I’ll make it worth your while.“

Somehow Robert has no doubt about that and several parts of his body agree enthusiastically to this idea, but what comes out of his mouth is, “Nah, dude. You’ll do that yourself while I get you a glass of water and some aspirin for tomorrow. Trust me, you don’t want that, okay?“

“Okay,“ Damien agrees with a deep, heartfelt sigh. When he starts to unbutton his shirt, Robert turns around and walks downstairs into the kitchen. What the fuck, he absently thinks, what the fuck is happening here. He is the one who is supposed to get batshit drunk and make advances towards people he does not even want to sleep with. And now? And now. He cannot help but smile in secret at himself, then he walks back to Damien.

Damien is already half underneath the covers when he comes back inside his bedroom, the seam of the blanket sliding over the soft swell of breasts when he turns around to smile sleepily at him. Chest? Robert blinks, puts the glass of water and the bottle of aspirin he has found next to the bed on the bedside table and decides to keep questions about how Damien calls his body parts for a better moment. Instead he focuses on properly tucking Damien in before he awkwardly pats his head. Nailed it.

“Good night,“ he grunts to which Damien sleepily replies, “You’re as lovely as the moon, Robert.“

What is one supposed to say to that? Robert decides to do the sensible thing and bails as fast as he can. His fangs throb in his mouth. His cock throbs in his pants. His heart throbs in his chest, angrily hammering against his ripcage. And then – he stops.

Joseph leans against Robert’s skewed fence, smiling in the moonlight with dark eyes. He looks good – he always looks good. Robert feels like stone. “Good evening, Robert. I tried to pay you a visit, but you weren’t there… I guess now I know why, don’t I?“ His smile widens a little. “Why don’t you come closer?“

“Maybe I don’t feel like it,“ Robert replies, hears the tension in his own voice. Wonders why Joseph does not come over.

“You must be hungry,“ Joseph says after a slight pause and makes a step towards him, yet stops in front of Damien’s fence. Robert inhales with sudden realization. Joseph cannot walk in here, onto the property of an Untouchable. “It’s been a while.“

“I’ll manage.“ Robert stays where he is and looks for a cigarette, finds it and lights it to blow smoke right in Joseph’s face. “You need anything else?“

“You’ve become cold. You used to tell me everything…“

“Yeah, well, that used to be before you bit me and put a Claim on me.“

Joseph sighs deeply, as if he is really pained by it. “You wanted it. You asked me to. Robert – I know you like what we are doing. And you know it too, don’t you? Do you really think that anyone would want to be with someone like you? The things I watched you do for me, on your knees, spread like a whore – oh, I know it was love, Robert, but who else would see it that way? Who would understand? You need to be yourself.“

Robert feels that he is trembling, but inside of him is nothing but ice. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette in an attempt to calm his frazzled nerves. Frazzled? Frazzled. Frayed. Broken. He does not want to think of this.

Joseph speaks quietly now. “There is no going back, Robert. Why are you trying to hurt me? Because this is what this is about, isn’t it? Oh, darling, that wouldn’t have been necessary. I do care… I care about you. I would be very upset to lose you.“ He sighs again and rubs his forehead. “Look – I will wait for you until tomorrow. Yes? Come to me tomorrow, to our place…“

“I’ll think about it,“ Robert says, hates himself for his weakness, hates Joseph for making him weak.

In the darkness, Joseph’s smile shines like a thousand knives in the candlelight. “I am looking forward to it.“  
 


	9. Damaged Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback!
> 
> Chapter title is a tribute to Depeche Mode‘s “Precious“.

Morning greets Damien with the realization that this is why he does not drink. He wakes up with a pounding head and considers the glass of water together with the bottle of aspirin on his bedside table the greatest gift of all time. While he is swallowing one of the pills with a mouthful of water, the door opens and Lucien pokes his head into the bedroom.

“You’re alive,“ he says unnecessarily and Damien groans a little.

“Avert your eyes, child,“ he murmurs, not at all dramatic, and closes his eyes. “Do not make the same mistake as me.“

“First of all I made breakfast,“ Lucien says and puts a plate of toast with butter next him. He is a good kid. Damien gladly reaches over and takes a bite of toast, butter filling his mouth in an instant. Lucien always uses too much, but that is a guilty pleasure he likes to indulge in anyways. He looks up when Lucien hesitates and sits down at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry about yesterday,“ he says quietly, looking down on his nervously fidgeting hands. “It’s just – there was some kind of event at school…a fu-stupid football game or something – emotions all over the floor, Dad, everyone was just so-“

“Oh, Lucien,“ Damien says and lets go of the slice of toast with icy dread in his fingertips, “Why did you not come home? I would have written you an excuse-“

“They already think I’m autistic or some shit, okay?“ Lucien interrupts him with hands clenched tight in his pants, “Not to be mean of autistic people or something, but I don’t wanna be the weird dude running away from school because he can’t handle a bit of excitement.“

“Lucien, you cannot change the fact that your other father gifted you with some special abilities,“ Damien says as gently as he can and reaches for his hand. It is not easy to push away the pang of guilt he feels; if only he had stayed home tonight instead of going out, if only he had listened to his son more closely… “Do not be ashamed of your needs, they are as valid as everyone else’s. We will figure out a way for you to handle them. You are just overwhelmed by the emotions of a larger crowd because you do not know how to process them properly yet.“

“Yeah. That’s just kinda hard to explain to others without appearing like a lunatic.“ Lucien is quiet for a moment before he sighs. “So you’ve been drinking with Robert yesterday? Does that mean I’m allowed to drink now too?“

“No,“ Damien immediately replies and squeezes his hand with a smile. “But it was a nice try. I think I will take a shower and then we can go watch something, if you like. It is a Saturday, after all, and I intend to do absolutely nothing today in order to cure this headache of mine.“

“Sounds like a plan,“ Lucien murmurs and then, quite shyly, “Hey, Dad?“

“Yes, my dear?“

“You like Robert, right? Like…in a crush.“

“I…I like to think so,“ Damien answers slowly, brushing back his hair in a nervous gesture. “I think a crush describes it very well…I might even fall in love with him. Does that bother you?“

“Nah, Robert’s cool. I know I overreacted the day before... but he’s got knives and swears the whole day, so I guess that‘s something to look forward to. But I, uh…“ Lucien is as red-faced as Damien feels, but he soldiers on courageously and finally presses out, “How do you know you like someone? Theoretically spoken.“

“Theoretically spoken, of course,“ Damien agrees with wide eyes and tries to not appear as excited as he feels. Lucien has never before shown any interest in anyone, even though he is already fifteen – not that there is something wrong about it, but Damien finds himself intrigued. First of all, however, his son needs his help, so he thinks carefully for a moment and then offers, “Well, you like to be around them and share activities with them…you try to stay in contact with them as much as possible…you think yourself reminded of or thinking about them more often than not…and then there often – that is, if one is not asexual – is of course the sexual-“

“Okay!“ Lucien all but shrieks and looks absolutely mortified. Damien almost combusts internally from curiosity, but he strictly forbids himself from asking even a single thing, staring at his son with a gaze that he hopes looks encouraging to him. “Cool. Thanks. I uh, I’m gonna go make you some coffee.“

“Thank you,“ Damien says gratefully and finishes his breakfast while Lucien walks out of the room. Peeling the cover off, he finally manages to slide out of bed and cannot help but be disappointed when there is no message from Robert. _Dear Robert_ , he types, _I hope I was not too exhausting yesterday. I have been told that I can be quite a handful when I indulge in alcoholic substances_.

The answer vibrates on his phone when he is already in the bathroom. _Don’t worry about it. I liked kissing you._

Damien squeaks and throws his phone into the washing sink to flee into the shower, turning on the water as quickly as possible. There is something that makes him shaky as a teenager during his first awakening of love. My God, he thinks helplessly and lets himself soak thoroughly, not daring to think further. He is hot and tingly all over, filled with a sort of ache he has not experienced in quite a while, and he bites his lips in a desperate attempt to keep from smiling. Falling in love is a beautiful thing that can make everything look a little better than it really is. 

When he comes downstairs wrapped into a black satin morning gown with purple flowers, Lucien is bent over the coffee machine and muttering under his breath. Damien leaves him be for the moment and goes outside to fetch the morning paper. He takes a moment to stand next to the mailbox and sort through the letters he got – bills, pleas for donations, a weekly letter from Hugo that makes him smile. It is nice to have friends that indulge one in one’s fancies.

“Oh, hello, neighbor!“

Damien looks up. There is Mary’s husband Joseph whom he has only fleetingly met so far, smiling and waving a hand at the other side of the fence. He looks fresher and healthier than Damien can hope to appear like in his current dishevelled state and his smile is infectious, so Damien cannot help but smile back. “Good morning, Joseph.“

“Nice weather today, isn’t it?“ Joseph asks with a chipper tone of voice and then conspiratorially leans closer without leaning over the fence. “I hope you don’t mind my indiscretion, but I saw Robert coming out of your house in the early mornings in quite the intoxicated state and I know how it is to stay up late and drink with him.“ He laughs a little and Damien, despite feeling a little sheepish and clutching the mail in front of his chest, does not feel as mortified as he could.“Just between the two of us, I don’t know how he manages to hold his liquor with all the stuff he drinks, I’m always out like a light after two glasses of wine – can you imagine?“

“I can imagine very well,“ Damien agrees with a smile, “Even though it is not that bad… But I do admit that yesterday has left me with a bit of a headache.“

Joseph clucks his tongue in sympathy. “Yes, I definitely can relate to that. Hey, if you’ve got time I could come in and help you out with one of my family’s special recipes to cure a hangover, I promise that it works in ten of ten cases!“

“Oh,“ Damien says a little surprised, but definitely delighted, “Well, that would be-“ He whirls around when there is an audible crash behind him and sees Lucien stand in the doorframe, pale as a ghost with wide eyes staring at a spot behind Damien – Joseph? To his feet are the broken remains of Damien’s favorite mug, dark liquid seeping slowly over black stairs. “Lucien! Are you hurt?“

Lucien does not respond. Instead he turns around without a word and walks back into the house, slamming the door shut behind him. Damien, confused and worried, turns toward Joseph and catches the last trace of an unreadable expression on his face before his neighboor looks at him with worried blue eyes. “I apologize, Joseph. He is having a hard time at the moment and I…I should see what is wrong.“

Joseph lifts up a hand with a smile. “Don’t worry about it,“ he says with a chuckle, “I’ve got kids on my own, even though they’re way younger. I know how it is. Another time, then?“

“Definitely,“ Damien says, “I am really sorry, since I do appreciate your offer.“

“Really, it’s fine,“ Joseph assures him, then hesitates for a moment. “I know it – it really isn’t my place to say, but Robert is – a complicated man. He has many problems…and you’ve just started a new life here, perhaps it would be better to…“ Shaking his head as if reminding himself of something, he sighs. “No, no, forget what I was saying. I’ll be seeing you around, then!“

“I look forward to it,“ Damien says honestly and walks back into the house, carefully stepping over the broken remains of the mug and the coffee. When he finds Lucien in the library, curled up in Damien’s favorite armchair once more, he huffs with worry. “Lucien – what is wrong?“

“Dad,“ Lucien says and finally looks up to him, his eyes red and puffy as if from crying as he briefly bites into his lower lip. “Don’t talk to him again. Ever. Stay away from him.“

“Lucien,“ Damien says with a little bit of stern tone of voice, “Joseph was quite friendly and offered to aid me with my headache, he-“

“He only tried to get in here, which he can’t ‘cause he’s an Old One,“ Lucien interrupts him, his eyes wide and dark. “And Dad – he is corrupted, I know it. I can feel it in my bones – it hurts looking at him, he must have been corrupted for years.“

“Jesus Lord, have mercy on us,“ Damien whispers and promptly sits down. There is not a moment of doubt in Lucien’s words – if Lucien knows, Lucien _knows_ ; it is in his blood. Everything else suddenly is of no importance anymore, not his hinfatuation with Robert, not the romance Lucien might or might not have going on. They look at each other silently with shared fear in their eyes, Lucien breathing heavily with panic at the immanent danger. 

The headache Damien feels has just started to double in pain.


	10. Begging Me To Play My Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a few very lovely comments for this in the last months, so thank you very much! I‘m glad you people still like it :)
> 
> Chapter title is a line from Depeche Mode‘s “Corrupt“.
> 
> Happy Holidays to those that celebrate!

Robert does not hear from Damien for the rest of the day. Perhaps it is for the best; Joseph’s words have left him shaken. He spends the day holed up in his apartment, sleeping, smoking too much, drinking too much. There is restlessness in his limbs, restlessness he tries to fight to no avail. Hunger gnaws at him relentlessly, the Call pulls at him without mercy. It is as if he has never had blood in his entire life. 

When the sound of his phone ringing cuts through his haze, he has no idea how late it is, but he fumbles with the phone, almost drops it and takes the call. “Yeah.“

“Robert,“ Damien breathes and before Robert can say anything, he rushes, “Please, please come over. Would that be alright with you? I have something urgent to tell you. I need to ask you some questions…“

“Uh,“ Robert says and immediately panics as he tries to recall what he could have possibly done wrong. He did not have sex with Damien in his intoxicated state, instead brought him home and made sure that he was properly tucked into bed. Does that not deserve some credit? “Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry-“

“No, no! My dearest, no, this is not-“ He hears a deep inhale at the other end of the line, then, “Please come here and let me explain, yes?“

“Well, alright.“ It is not as if he had more pressing matters, so Robert makes a half-hearted attempt at cleaning himself by taking a quick shower; he even finds a somewhat decent, clean shirt and shrugs it on with the rest of his clothes before he walks over to Damien’s house. They are already waiting for him in the door; Damien looks at him with a face that is even paler than usual, even though he is smiling. Behind him hovers Lucien, lips pressed together into a tight, firm line. Robert wordlessly stares at them both for a while before he takes a step forward. “So, what’s wrong?“

“Please,“ Damien says softly, worriedly. It makes Robert worried as well; this is not how he has imagined their next meeting, especially with Lucien in tow, but he follows them inside to the living room. Robert, sitting down on the couch where Damien patched him up again weeks ago, startles when Damien sits down next to him and takes his hand. Lucien groans quietly in the way every teenager does when they feel that their parents are absolutely embarrassing. Robert tries to act cool, even though Damien’s soft fingers in his feel really, really nice. 

“My dearest,“ Damien gently begins and causes his heart to do funny things, “Please do not take this the wrong way – I do not wish to be intrusive, that is – I do not ask the questions I am about to ask you out of jealousy or…or other reasons. But I – was wondering whether it could be that the Old One that claimed you was perhaps Mary’s husband, Joseph?“

Robert does not realize he is gripping Damien’s hand too tightly until the other man makes a slightly pained noise, after which Robert hastily releases him. There is something about the whole situation that makes him deeply uncomfortable – too many things he never wanted to talk about with anyone. It should not matter. But it does, and Damien speaks without hesitation or intention to hurt him, at least that is what Robert tries to tell himself, so he just nods silently.

Damien exhales with a shuddering sigh. “How long have you known him?“

“Is this a cross-examination?“ Robert growls and folds his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve known him for a while – couple of years.“

“Was he – different from now, when you met him?“ Damien asks; his voice is soft, but there is a steely glimmer in his eyes that makes Robert pause. “Perhaps less aggressive, or…violent.“

They are really talking about it, Robert realizes, something like dread settling in his bones, ache throbbing in his head like a menacing foreboding. “Yeah. He was different.“ He prays, prays that Damien does not ask him whether he loved him – still loves him. He would not know what to say without either lying or hurting him.

For a moment, there is silence. Lucien looks at his father with bright, almost brimming eyes, seated on the very edge of the sofa. Finally, Damien takes another deep breath and asks, “And his blood, Robert, when you drink from him. What color is it?“

“Well, the same as with every Old One, I guess,“ Robert replies with utter confusion, “It’s black.“

Lucien makes a noise at that and falls back into the cushions of the sofa, covering his face with both hands and a groan. Damien, even paler than before, whispers, “No, Robert. Old Ones usually have red blood as well.“

“What,“ Robert says, flatly. Suddenly he is very glad that he is already sitting because the feeling of something terrible has grown and grown in his chest. “What do you mean? It’s been black ever since I could remember – it was black when he turned me, that was a year ago or so.“

“He is corrupted,“ Damien tells him without any further ado. “Lucien could feel it from the very moment he laid eyes on Joseph and what you said just confirms it.“

“What do you mean, he could feel it?“ Robert demands to know, his voice starting to border on hysterical. “And what do you mean, he is corrupted? I mean he’s an asshole, but corrupted? By satan, or what?“

“No, it is-“ Damien hesitates for a moment. “It is more like a sickness festering inside him. There are…parasites – some would say lesser demons – that specifically seek out Old Ones and try to get a hold of them. If they manage to do so, they fester inside them, turning them into something…monstrous. A corrupted Old One is a dangerous thing. They kill without a second thought and lose all aspects of morale, often keeping lairs where they hold humans and claimed ones as prisoners and bleed them dry. Now, Lucien is a half-blood, which means that he has inherited some of his other father’s abilities. One of them is that he knows whether someone is human, a vampire, an Old One or a werewolf, or any other sort of cryptid – even if he might not be able to tell which cryptid. And he also knows whether someone is corrupted.“

“What the fuck – how?“

“I can smell it, okay?“ Lucien snaps, pushing his hair out of his face. “And I can see it. It’s like – imagine a thousand black maggots moving under skin and they smell like a mixture of acid and a burnt-out car. It’s not quite like that, but close enough. And your dude? He’s corrupted pretty badly, I almost barfed when I saw him. You only don’t see it ‘cause you’re made and not born, and ‘cause you’re his creation.“

“We need to do something,“ Damien says quietly and tries to take his hand again. When Robert does not move, he does not attempt to do so a second time. “There are only two possibilities. Either we kill him or we try to exorcize him.“

“Hold the fuck up,“ Robert grunts, “You tellin‘ me we need a priest here or we kill him? I should call Mary…Jesus. We can’t just kill Joseph!“

“I merely told you the options,“ Damien says a little too sharply, pressing his fingers tightly together in a knot on his lap. “And we do not need a priest, I could exorcize him myself. I have all the necessary items here and I know the process. Althought he is corrupted so badly that it is not sure whether we will be successful.“

“The process,“ Robert repeats and passes a hand over his face. “Why – why – Jesus fuck, so we gotta kill him or try to exorcize him without really knowing whether that would work for sure?“

“Well, we also would need a bit more assistance,“ Damien replies. There is something hard in his face, something Robert has not seen so far. He has the vague feeling that he might be to blame for it at least partially. “We should ask Mary. It could be that she already knows or at least suspected it.“

At this very moment Robert hates everything. This might be the punishment for all the fuckups he has managed in his life. He thinks of Joseph as he was when they met – laughing, sparkling, larger than life, lovingly grazing his skin with fangs before he drank from his neck. And the nightmare that has been their relationship ever since Robert has been turned: Joseph, laughing, eyes black as the universe and cruel hands. The things he has seen him do that he must not speak of, even if they haunt his dreams. He should have known, should have done something earlier. And now this: Damien, who looks at him with sad eyes and a sad smile in a hard face as if he already knows he has lost, even though Robert has not said anything yet. 

“I don’t want him to die,“ he whispers and hates himself for it because he remembers all the pain, the loneliness, the broken promises, and yet – Joseph, larger than life. He could be the sun again. It was not him, all these months, the darkness of the universe was not him. He could be the sun again, and Robert so desperately wants to see him shine again.

Damien half-smiles and looks away. “He is not going to die,“ he says, his voice firm and unwavering. He looks ethereal in that moment, beautiful, truly untouchable and even though Robert sits right next to him, he feels far away. “Let us call Mary, then. Time is of the essence now.“


	11. The Strings of Your Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd we’re back with this story! We’re nearing the finish line, but this chapter isn’t quite there yet. Sorry for even more suspension and hunting preparations in advance.
> 
> Chapter title is a line from “My Body‘s a Zombie for You“ by Dead Man‘s Bones.
> 
> Enjoy!

Later, Damien will cry about the helplessly hopeful expression in Robert’s face when Damien tells him that perhaps Joseph can be saved. He will cry about the way Robert leaned forward without really noticing, disrupting all physical contact with Damien. He will cry about it because he knows that look, that tone of voice, has hoped that it would be directed at him at some point, even though he should have known better. He will allow himself to cry it all out, the dreams, the excitement, the fluttering in his chest, and then he will move on, just like always. If there is anything he has experience with, it is heartache. 

For now, he has to take care of a corrupted Old One, which means: Calling Mary and asking her to come over. Explaining the situation to her as calmly as possible when she arrives. Calming his son, who is almost in hysterics but will not admit it for his life. Making tea while Mary sits in absolute silence with a stony face while Robert stares at her with dark eyes. He is on autopilot, but it works. He has always known how to make a smile work. 

He comes back with the mugs just as Mary says very quietly, “I thought it could be that he…but I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe it was – maybe it was just me. I can’t leave him.“

“Because you are bound to him?“ Damien asks in a carefully neutral tone and places one of the mugs in front of everyone. Robert does not look at him, his gaze staying fixated on Mary as he drinks up every word from her. Damien briefly bites the insides of his cheeks and then sits down next to his son.

“It is more complicated than that,“ Mary murmurs, running one hand through her hair. “My kind only bonds ever so often. And I do…“ In the end, she does not finish the sentence, but its meaning hangs for everyone to hear in the air. There is something sad about fatal love, especially when it is love felt towards an Old One, Damien thinks, looks at Robert and takes a sip of his tea to drown out his thoughts. “If there is a chance to save him, I’ll gladly take it. What would we need to do?“

Damien rubs his face. He is tired, feeling all of his years at once like a weight around his neck, but with a deep breath he looks at Lucien. “Please go to bed, Lucien.“

“Are you kidding me?“ Lucien promptly replies to exactly no one’s surprise. “I don’t want to!“

“And I do not wish you to listen to the proper process since it is quite gruesome and I do not want you to be part of this any more than you have already been,“ Damien steadily replies. “You are too young and I still have the duty to protect you.“

“Yeah, right,“ Lucien says angrily and jumps up. “That’s so fucking unfair, for once in my life those weird skills I’ve got could be really useful instead of fucking terrible for me and you tell me I can’t participate! That’s so typical!“

Before Damien can open his mouth for a reply, Lucien has already stormed off. He listens to his son’s angry, stomping footsteps on the stairs before a door is slammed shut. With a sigh, Damien takes another sip of his tea; for a brief moment he meets Robert’s gaze, which prompts him to elaborate rather solemnly, “We need to hold him down, then I shall cut his chest open with a special dagger and cause the corruption to leave his body. Afterwards, we need to ban it into a sort of – well, vessel, a doll or carving with the proper runes would do.“

“Why d’you know all of this?“ Robert asks and startles him a little with the suddenness of his rough voice. “Lucien’s father told you all that? Why would he?“

“Julien was a hunter himself – he always kept an eye open for corrupted ones of his kind and delivered them either a quick death or tried to free them. He did not always succeed… As it is, he was always afraid that the corruption would befall him as well,“ Damien replies slowly, “He wanted me to be prepared for the worst case and taught me how to do it, theoretically. In a way, I am glad it never came to that…even though it was for the wrong reasons. In any case, I have the necessary items here with me. Robert, we will have to chain you up, I am afraid.“

As expected Robert does not seem to be too thrilled about that. “What? Why?“

“Because you are claimed by him and he might use you against us if you are not chained up,“ Damien patiently explains, “The best option would be to go without you, but even then he could call you and force you to aid him, so it is better to take you with us and at least use you as bait. I do not mean any offense.“

“None taken,“ Robert grunts, yet looks as if he does. Damien cannot blame him. “I know-“ He stops abruptly, closes and opens his mouth several times and finally settles with a choked, “I know things. I just – cannot talk about them.“

“I suspected that would be the case,“ Damien says and, catching Mary’s questioning gaze, he adds, “Joseph has very likely forbidden him to talk about things he has seen or experienced. It is common enough for those that have been claimed. However, if we manage to ask the right questions, we may be able to get informations nevertheless.“ Thinking for a moment, he finally forces himself to look at Robert. “You know where it is.“ Robert twitches, nods, presses his lips together. “The lair?“ Robert makes another choked noise, groans. “Is it close? Is it in the city?“

“Fuck you,“ Robert presses out, but Damien takes no offense since he can see that Robert is fighting. “Cryptids can be found in the forests, but that’s not the only place where they are, y‘know. Some of them, they’re in the city too. Sneaky motherfuckers, though. They aren’t seen much.“

“Because they are hiding?“ Damien guesses, “Maybe underground?“

“They like holy ground,“ Robert says, “But like – not actual holy ground. But connected to it, yet so old that people have forgotten it’s there, you know?“

“What the fuck is he talking about?“ Mary says and looks around her as if in search for something. “Holy ground, but not actual holy ground? Wait.“ She freezes, thinks. Both Robert and Damien look at her expectantly. “I think there was some talk about ancient chambers and corridors underneath the church when Joseph started as a youth minister there. They had to tell him because apparently they’re pretty dangerous since nobody really knows how far they stretch and how stable they are. I’ve just forgotten about them until now because I wasn’t really interested in that shit. But it could be there, couldn’t it?“

“It is worth a shot,“ Damien says, especially since Robert stays completely silent. “Now, Robert, you are adept at whittling, are you not?“

“Guess so, yeah,“ Robert replies with a shrug, “You want me to make that vessel or whatever it’s called?“

“If you would be so kind, that would be great,“ Damien says and rises at the same time. “Then I shall go and get the dagger and chains. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable in the meantime, I will be back as soon as possible.“

“Hey, Dames.“

Robert’s rough voice makes him stop in his tracks and turn around. He flushes when he sees Robert look at him with surprisingly soft, dark eyes, hands loosely folded in his lap. “Thanks,“ Robert says very quietly, but the honesty in his voice shooks Damien to the core. If only he would receive gratitude for anything else than this – but life is hardly fair. 

“You are welcome,“ he whispers and leaves before he can convince himself to stay and do something very, very stupid. It is better this way, he tries to argue with himself als he descends the stairs down to the cellar that he rarely ever visits. Better to get through it now than later when he is already in way too deep, although a tiny little voice tells him that this might already be the case. It does not change the facts. At least there is something noble about freeing a captive man, no matter the ugly feelings that raise their head inside of him at the thought that Robert will all too eagerly return back to Joseph as soon as the man is himself again. He should not be like that; feelings cannot be helped and Robert is not to blame for his emotions, but then again, neither is Damien. 

At last he finds the box made of red velvet on the top of one of the shelves, dusty from years of oblivion. It was dusty when he packed it up for their move and it is dusty now, a relict of days long gone. Perhaps it will be Lucien’s fate in the future, but perhaps not – certainly not if Damien can prevent it, no matter his son’s gifts. A part of Damien anticipates the blade to be black with corrupted blood when he opens the lid, but nothing of the sort is the truth. Julien always used to be quite diligent with the maintenance of his weapons, staying up for hours to clean and take care of them. He can see him clearly now before his inner eye, sitting there hunched over a gruesome, necessary collection of weapons in the candlelight, those broad shoulders slumped and tired from a task he considered his duty. Maybe this is what killed him in the end; maybe it was only part of it. Damien lightly touches the dagger’s shaft and wonders if he can be as strong as him or if it will kill him too. 

With a deep sigh, he closes the box and carries it upstairs into the light.   
 


	12. The Illness Behind The Image That You Create

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely support, it means a lot to me! <3  
> And we‘re getting closer to the epic showdown.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from Emilie Autumn‘s “I Know Where You Sleep“, which is pretty nice for mood setting for this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Robert feels as if he is on autopilot. He gets out of the house to fetch a suitable piece of wood, then comes back as quickly as he can because somehow Damien’s house has turned out to be the safest place in this entire fucking town, which somehow is quite the irony. Mary has started to pace around between kitchen, living room and library like a caged animal when he comes back and he knows that this means that she tries to rile herself up as much as she can. When she looks at him, her eyes are yellow and inhuman. Robert sits down slowly on the sofa, pulls out his knife and gets to work without a word. What is there to say, anyways? They both fear for the same man under quite similar circumstances, which makes this a bit strange. Then again, they have already lived in some sort of limbo about that matter for years now.

After a while, Damien comes back with a fancy-looking box made out of red velvet. Robert looks at him with a pang in his heart because Damien Bloodmarch is not an idiot by all means and Joseph has always managed to rise noticeable reactions out of Robert. His eyes are soft and sad when he meets Robert’s gaze and places the box on the table. “This is it,“ he says without much further ado, “The dagger we will need.“

Mary growls quietly in the background, raking shaking fingers through her hair in an almost frenzied motion. The moon sure helps, Robert thinks distantly, because even though it is not full moon anymore, the moon is still full enough. Damien looks at her with an assuring smile as if nothing really can unfaze him. Maybe that truly is the case; it is hard to tell sometimes. Robert gnashes his teeth together and tries to get rid of the inner trembling that has taken a hold of him. “When can we start?“

“I will go and change into something more appropriate, then I am ready,“ Damien replies and barely looks at him as he talks. In a way it drives Robert up a wall – it is not his fault that things are what they are. Damien was the one to insist that something had to be done about Joseph. Robert probably would have – just continued how it was, keeping his eyes and mouth and ears shut like one of those monkeys. But another part of him can understand all too well and it is that part that watches Damien retreat with something like regret. 

Mary looks at him and sighs deeply. “What a mess,“ she says with heartfelt conviction and Robert can do nothing but agree. He walks outside in Damien’s garden and smokes a cigarette, then another, looking up into the sky that is so completely uncaring towards all their struggling. Tonight they are going to either save a man or kill him. He is not sure anymore which option he prefers. 

Only minutes later Damien walks out with Mary on tow. He is dressed in black pants and a black shirt, both of them looking as used as the black leather gloves on his hands and the dark coat hugging his shoulders. His hair is tied back, revealing the sharp features of his face more prominently than ever in the faint moonlight. Mary is already half-feral, her skin covered in fine, dark fur that reveals her true hair color and her golden eyes blazing with fierceness, but she still stands upright, still retains most of her human appearance. There are thin chains in Damien’s hand that cause Robert’s skin to itch; he almost steps back, but forces himself to remain where he is.

“I am truly sorry,“ Damien tells him softly as he wraps them around Robert’s arms, carefully making sure that they do not touch his naked skin, “But there is nothing that can be done about it.“

“You like tying me up, Bloodmarch, admit it,“ Robert says just to lighten the mood a little, make things less awkward with innuendos. He feels weakened by pure silver so close to him and wonders what it must be like for Mary, who watches the process with an unheard growl on her lips.

To his surprise Damien meets his answer with glinting eyes and a smile. “Perhaps.“

Jesus. He senses missed opportunities here. Robert blinks a little and does not resist when Damien leads him to his car and helps him inside. Mary jumps into the car with barely restrained energy, every ounce of her vibrating. Damien starts the engine without a word and drives carefully, yet barely inside of the street limits, his eyes completely focused on the road. Robert watches his sharp profile from the front passenger’s seat, the way the cold neonlight of streetlamps illuminates his skin in an almost sickly glow. 

About halfway, the Call starts to pull in earnest, pulls so harshly on his insides that he almost groans in pain and closes his eyes shut. It even whispers to him, this times, something he has never experienced before – likely because Joseph never had to resolve to this before with him, what with how eagerly Robert usually responded to his beckoning. Damien sends him a worried glance when he starts to writhe and he chokes on a curse when sharp claws suddenly dig into his shoulders from behind – Mary, grounding him down with the only things she knows will help to keep him focused: clean pain. He feels like the bait he is supposed to be – on the hook like a worm, waiting to be swallowed by a merciless fish.

The church lies white and lifeless in front of them as they finally stop, too pristine to be real. Damien helps him out of the car and Robert almost buckles under the crushing weight of Joseph’s all-encompassing presence at this place. He wants to crawl towards him, wants to lay down before his feet and beg for everything he can offer him – Joseph, larger than life –, and he almost is on all fours already when Damien grabs the chains and pulls him upwards again in a jerky motion, gripping his neck in the same fashion a cat would grab her unruly kitten.

“Focus, my dearest, focus,“ he tells him and presses a quick kiss on his forehead. “Follow his lead so you can guide us towards him, but do not fall prey to his illusions. Stay with us.“ 

From the corners of his eyes he can see Mary tear off her headband and clothes, shedding the last remains of her human side before she changes with the sound and sight of cracking bones, gushing blood and tearing muscles. Mary, Robert dazedly thinks, a powerful appearance, a goddess walking on earth, a sad woman in love with the wrong man, a bitter, forlorn spirit of revenge, a child of earth, born in the forest. Mary, ready to do whatever is necessary now that all pretenses have been ripped away so cruelly, ready to end it, to end everything if that is what it takes. Mary, looking at him with smart, golden eyes in the face of a giant wolf, panting underneath Damien’s gently caressing fingers. What a pair they are, and Robert needs the sight to pull himself together and nod.

The pathway is laid out in front of him almost as clear as day. Robert follows it blindly, tries not to drown in the sea of redness that is the whispering madness of the Call and almost wishes that Damien would have burned the silver chains directly into his flesh. He leads them into the eerily silent church where every of their steps echo between the white walls; Mary’s claws click-click-click across the marbled floor and Robert tries not to whince. The stern, suffering face of Jesus nailed to the cross follows them as they step around the altar and descend the stairs hidden behind a door made of black iron. 

There is something hanging in the air of the dark corridors underneath the church that makes him recoil, something old and sinister, something that should not be, most of all not at a place like this. Damien, who is the only one of them who cannot see in the darkness, illuminates the path they are following with a small flashlight, just big enough to make it possible for him to not run into obstacles. When they round their first corner, the whispering in his head starts to form proper words that moan across the old, withered walls around them. “Robert,“ they whisper, “Robert. Come to me, my love, come – it is time. It is time. Show me your ultimate sacrifice, my love, show me that you are ready for me.“

And he wants, yes, he wants so badly that he starts to struggle against the chains in earnest and stops in the middle of the path, panting as the voice whispers, “Let me love you the way you deserve it. Let us be together forever.“ And he wants, oh, he wants-

Mary rises on her hindlegs and slashes his cheek open with her claws. Through the tears of pain he comes back to clarity, clawing his way back into awareness, even though the voice starts to become decidedly more vicious afterwards, vibrating through every corner of the ancient structures. “I demand your love, Robert, it is mine – you can never be innocent again, let me paint something beautiful with your blood-“

He does not realize that he is shaking until Damien takes his hand and looks at him steadily without a single word. But he is holding his hand and he is warm and alive and good, so Robert hangs on as best as he can. His own hand where Joseph’s mark brands him feels like it was set on fire. 

“You’re doing so well,“ Damien murmurs, “We are almost there, my love. Soon it will be over for better or worse, I promise.“

Robert loses all sense of time the longer they walk on and a part of his mind wonders whether there is something like time down here at all. The corridors seem to be endless, often ending in dead ends, even though Robert always brings them back on track after a while. Mary suffers in the closed atmosphere, whining ever so often, although quietly. It takes them a significant amount of time to realize that they pass heaps of bones every so often, then, gradually, the tracks start to become fresher: bones with rests of flesh on them, clogging the air with their stench. Corpses with still recognizable faces, staring wide-eyed into nothingness with dark, huge holes ripped into their necks and arms. And then, suddenly, the corridor they were following ends in front of a door. Damien, Mary and Robert briefly look at each other, then all three of them combine their weight to shift it open. It is a tremendous amount of effort and by now, Robert almost goes insane with the voice screaming vicious words from all corners, but finally, finally the door gives in and they stumble through, Robert almost falling on his face because of his bound state.

A wide, circular chamber opens before them, the floor dark with dried and fresh blood alike. And on the ceiling: ropes hanging from hooks, on them people that are still alive, yet only barely so, twitching inside them like flies in a spider’s web. Their stench is almost unbearable and impossibly overwhelming; he sees Mary flinch back and barely manages to avoid throwing up himself. Damien covers his mouth and nose with a cough, his eyes wide and afraid for the first time this night.

And in the middle of the chamber: Joseph, larger than life and dressed in black, and Robert sees the uncaring universe spread out in his infinite black eyes and almost takes a step towards him. Joseph smiles at him, him alone, and opens his arms wide in a loving gesture.

“Robert,“ he says softly, tenderly, “Finally you’ve come home – and you brought some appetizers as well, I see.“


	13. The Stars, Falling From The Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another month, another chapter! Thank you all so much for still reading this and giving me your support. I‘m delighted to see that people like the story and I hope the final won‘t disappoint.  
> After this, there is one more chapter and an epilogue to wrap things up.
> 
> Enjoy!

It is plain as day that Joseph does not bother with illusions anymore. He is all the graceful, deadly, hideous power of a corrupted Old One, stronger and more ruthless than Julien could have ever been. Damien takes one look into his eyes and shudders when he sees nothing but horror. But he has to be strong – for himself, for Lucien, for Robert and Mary, who are lost in the invisible web Joseph carefully, diligently crafted around them for months, maybe even years. He cannot lose his mind now, not even when every fibre of him wants nothing more than to turn around and flee. 

The weight of the doll Robert whittled only hours before – was it really hours? Down here, it could have been days, weeks, seconds, moments – rests assuringly against his hand in the inside of his coat pocket. He carved the necessary runes into it himself while Robert was smoking in his garden and now his thumb gently strokes across them. 

“Please,“ Joseph says softly, holding his empty palms towards them in a pacifying gesture. “Fighting is completely useless. After all, what is there that you could do against me? I know your filthy souls, I know the secrets that you keep, I know the darkest, deepest wishes that keep you up at night – I can take you all and smash you across this room in seconds – watch you crack, watch you bleed – who would find you here? Who would even go looking for you? Mary-“ He turns his head towards her with an indulgent smile. “There are no friends that would miss you and your children hate you – what a bad mother you are, Mary, what a bad wife, allowing all of this to happen because of your weakness! And what for? Oh, I know that you love me in your own way, my dear, but it never was enough to satisfy me. Oh, you gave up everything for this life with me, Mary, but you always held that fact over my head with resentment and bitterness. Is this the way to make a sacrifice? You never knew how to be noble. You’re nothing but a drunk whore, the pitiful shadow of a woman that never knew how to make the best of her life.“ 

With a deep, unsettling growl Mary lunges at him before he can say another word. The sight of her rows of massive, sharp teeth is enough to make even Joseph pause before his eyes widen. He barely has a second before she is on top of him, causing him to stumble underneath her weight, and then-

Damien watches the mask crack with morbid fascination, watches as the veins in Joseph’s skin turn black and black tendrils of unearthly matter shoot from his back to grasp Mary until she howls in pain. He has never seen it like this, not in all of the few times he accompanied Julien on his tasks; this is another level of corruption, one that goes deep into the very soul and grasps tightly. He wonders whether there is even enough left of Joseph to salvage. 

There is no time to wonder. Robert, struggling agains his chains hysterically with eyes red as the dying sun and fangs fully elongated, tries with every fibre of his being to reach Joseph, crawling and clawing his way across the floor like a grub. There is heartbreak in the way he is fighting on two fronts with little chance to win on either, and Joseph, struggling free from Mary’s grip, throws her across the floor where she slams against the wall with a yowl.

“Come to me, Robert,“ Joseph says, breathless and nothing more than crackling energy underneath paper-thin skin. “I will take care of you the way you always wanted it – you weak man, you poor creature that never managed to get anything right in his life. You watched your wife die and did nothing against it, Robert – how could you? And then your daughter, beautiful Val – no wonder she hates you when everything you did for her was throw money at her problems to go away. Have you ever really been a father to her or were you too busy drinking yourself into a stupor every day? Oh, don’t cry, my dearest, don’t cry – that’s why I saved you after the crash, remember? That’s why I turned you – because I love and believe in you like nobody else does. If you can make me proud, you can make everyone else proud. The only thing you have to do is let me get rid of those chains for you, free you, and then we can rule the world together, you and I – I would give up eveything for you, Robert, if only you give yourself completely over to me first.“

Damien does not allow himself the sadness when Robert does his best to follow Joseph’s words, blinded by empty promises. It is not Robert’s fault at all, it is merely the nature of the bond. Mary stirs in the corner where she lies, her flesh partially burned away by black blood that fell on her like acid rain. Joseph rises slowly into the air while she tries to recover, trying to reach Robert with his outstretched hand. Damien is barely aware that he is running until he kneels next to Robert and pushes him further away. Robert, dazed and pained, allows himself to be pushed and rolls away. “You will not have him,“ he snaps, heart stuttering in his chest. 

Joseph just laughs, hovering above him like a god. Even now in sickness and corruption he is magnificent, the light he once was shining through the abyss he has become. Damien looks at him with ache in his heart, yet knows that it is merely the despair of humanity to be something else, something more. “And who will stop me? You?“ He laughs again and shakes his head. “Should I be afraid of you? You sick, pathetic creature that lives in another world because it cannot bear reality – you weak, fragile thing, crying about everything and everyone with a heart made of glass like a child, drowning in a sea of loneliness – who would ever want you with your disfigured body and a life you build on bizarreness, a walking, talking freak show that frantically clings onto every friendly word? And what is going to happen when your son will start to hate you for the life between two worlds that you condemned him to lead? You will die alone, with no trace of you left in the endless circle of life, and nobody will remember you even existed besides a fading relief that you are gone.“

Damien feels laughter bubble up in his chest and sets it free, laughing and laughing until tears stream down his face. Joseph lowers down onto the ground, confusion written on his face. In her corner, Mary slowly gets back onto her feet. “My God, Joseph,“ Damien says, still laughing hysterically. He feels himself crack as well, a carefully sealed part of himself scrambling to get onto the surface. With a deep breath, he sets it free. “There is nothing you could say that I have never heard or thought before. Your words cannot hurt me, you corrupted, uncreative piece of shit, it takes more to break me than a handful of black ooze.“

He ducks just in time when Mary jumps and presses Joseph down onto the ground, her jaws closing around his neck without breaking it, not yet. He is laid bare on his back, trashing around with inhuman screeches, and Damen- 

yanks the dagger out of his coat-

leaps-

\--buries the blade in Joseph’s chest to the hilt without hesitation. Joseph screams and screams, black blood spilling across his lips as Damien cuts him open with precise motions like someone would open a corpse, starting from his collarbones to the breastbone and down. The blackness is everywhere; it floods the floor and burns his skin when he takes the doll-

holds it above his head-

\---and thrusts it face downwards into the open, gaping hole in Joseph’s body. The blackness seeps into it immediately as if soaked up by a sponge and it seems to be neverending; Joseph screams and screams, this time in pain, his body convulsing underneath the hands and paws and teeth that hold him still, tremors in every inch of him, his skin slowly turning blue and cold as he is dying, and dying, and dying – and the corruption is leaving, and leaving, and leaving-

Robert starts to choke and writhe next to them and Damien wonders if he even knows that he will cease to exist if Joseph dies as long as their bond is still active, wonders if he even suspects that this could be the reason why Damien wanted him with them- 

And then: red blood. Joseph stops screaming and lays on the floor with the stillness of a doll. Robert does not make a sound and does not move. Mary releases him, giant drops of tears dripping from her soulful, golden eyes when she looks at Damien. There is death in the room, death surrounding them – and Damien is so tired of experiencing it, even though it may be a part of life. He smiles at Mary as gently as he can while he rolls up his sleeves. Joseph cannot drink from him when he does not freely offer his blood, which is something Damien should never do with an Old One because it annihilates the immunity he has towards that certain Old One, but there is no other choice right now. It is either this or two lost lives. There is always a price that has to be paid.

“Don’t tell Lucien,“ he says with all the courage he can muster and cuts into his arm to press it against Joseph’s lips. For a long, long, cold moment nothing happens. Then Joseph’s hands shoot upwards and grasp him by his arms, drawing him closer in endless hunger. He drinks and drinks and drinks with the bottomless greed of a newborn and Damien, even with the advantages of an Untouchable, can feel himself get weaker as the seconds draw on. 

The last thing he sees are eyes of endless blue looking into his own in confusion before everything turns dark.


	14. Goodbye, My Hopeless Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April is a nightmare for me, y‘all, but have the last chapter before an epilogue wraps this up. I took the liberty to insert an OC in this chapter, but she won‘t be there for much of the action. I was toying with the idea of a oneshot about Lucien where she‘d have a bit more to do, but we‘ll see about that.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from A Fine Frenzy‘s “Almost Lover“.

Damien is barely breathing when they stumble out of the church, Joseph leaning heavily against Mary because he is weak as a kitten. The Call is gone and took the whispering voices with it. What is left is a faint, thrumming feeling inside him that lacks all the malicious urge of the Call. Robert feels like he can breathe again for the first time since his death, even if Damien is so still and so cold in his arms as he carries him to the car. 

Mary, bloody and burned and naked since she changed back into her human form, looks as exhausted as he feels when she finally tucked Joseph into the car next to Damien’s unconscious form. Joseph does not seem to have a clue about what happened in the last three years, getting more and more confused with every question they tried to ask him. They did not tell him that all the half-dead people hanging from the ceiling are his fault. They did not tell him how many people he likely has killed, that he can be glad it was them who found him and brought him back. At the current state of things, there is no reason for that, maybe it never will be. 

The ride back home is silent. On the way, Mary calls the police and gives them an anonymous lead to the chamber underneath the church where they will find the – victims. Perhaps something can still be done for them. Robert clenches his fingers so tightly around the steering wheel that they start to hurt and tries not to think about anything. He should not be the one to drive, but who else is there? Joseph is weak as kitten and equally confused, slipping in and out of consciousness every other minute. Mary is literally licking her wounds while she has stubbornly turned her head away from him so that he does not see her cry; but he knows she does, can taste the saltiness in the air. And Damien –

Damien is a patch of darkness on the rear seat, like black ink spilled out on fabric, slowly seeping into it. Robert involuntarily thinks of the stone angel at the cemetary Damien rested beneath with Mary the other night and wants to bite something, he is so angry. It has always been anger with him in so many unhealthy ways, especially when it is accompanied by that lump in his throat that makes him barely able to breathe, makes it hard to think anything else than, _Please. Please don’t do this to me. Please, not again._ But his mind does not let him rest and he drives unevenly, thinking of Marilyn’s broken eyes in the middle of scorched metal and flames, thinking of Val’s hard gaze when she left town for years to come, thinking of black ink spilled out on fabric, so cold to the touch. And yet there are faint traces of breath, a heartbeat so slow and quiet that it is barely more than a shudder; Robert clings to it desperately like a child. 

They stop in front of the Christiansen’s house first. By then Mary has managed to pull a shirt over her head and put on a skirt, which is decent enough for a quick hop out of the car, which is exactly what she does. Robert often forgets how physically strong she is, but he is reminded of it now when she leans down and lifts Joseph, barely unconscious with wildly rolling blue eyes, into her arms just like that, as if he weighed nothing. There is an expression in her face he does not want to recognize when she looks at him, her lips pressed together into a taut line. For a moment they simply look at each other in silence, then Mary turns away and carries Joseph towards the house, towards the anchor illuminated by light. He doesn’t know if they will ever be alright again, he and Mary and Mary with Joseph and he with Joseph; maybe they lost everything down in that chamber. 

He can’t worry about that now, there are more pressing things to think about right now, which require him to stop the engine in front of Damien’s house and get out of the car to gather Damien in his arms much like Mary did with her husband. Unlike her, however, Robert is not blessed with the physical strength of a werewolf; he is no stronger than he was in life, which is really shitty on most days, but especially shitty right now where he could really use the boost. But he manages – despite everything that happens he manages, maybe because Damien is less heavy than he looks and maybe because he stirs a little in his arms while he wheezes up the stairs to his house before looking for Damien’s keys.

As it turns out, he needn’t have bothered with it because the door swings open noiselessly after a minute of ineffective, frantic searching, and it reveals Lucien, who looks first at his father, then at Robert. And it is then that Robert almost recoils because Lucien’s eyes are red as a blood moon in the stale light of the streetlamps and his skin looks almost translucent, veins thick and blue underneath it. The horror that settles in when something inside him realizes that Lucien is _furious_ , trembling with supressed emotions and ready to lash out every minute, the horror is an instinctual thing. He has never seen, never experienced anything like it and it is ridiculous, really, Lucien is a fifteen-year-old, spoiled brat, half-breed or not, and yet-

“Shut the fuck up,“ Lucien hisses when Robert’s mouth automatically starts to say apologies he didn’t intend to make, horrified even more at the loss of control over himself, yet unable to stop it. Lucien doesn’t seem to care much for his struggle, opening the door wide instead. “You can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want, stop apologizing. Jesus. We gotta lay him down fast. He’s collapsing. And then call the god damn ambulance. What are you, twelve? Just get him up there, I’ll do it.“

“I didn’t exactly have the best of nights, kid,“ Robert snaps. It gets better the minute Robert realizes that Lucien is not so much angry as he is terrified, which is a sentiment that Robert shares to a certain point. He realizes it when Lucien’s hands and shoulders start to tremble in the same nervousness that Damien sometimes shows as he leads Robert up the stairs, racing forward into Damien’s bedroom so quickly that Robert barely manages to keep up, not with Damien’s weight in his arms. He realizes when he lowers Damien onto the bed as carefully as he can and Lucien climbs into the bed without hesitation, when there is nothing left of the terrifying red anymore and it’s frightened dark doe eyes, the same eyes as Damien’s, in a too pale face that look at him. Robert clears his throat and avoids that gaze as he gently pulls the blood-stained leather gloves off of Damien’s hands, freeing him from his boots next. When he looks at Damien, he pauses for a moment and brushes a strand of hair from his face. Motionless like this, Damien looks younger than he usually appears, but there is nothing fragile about his face. “Is he gonna live?“ he can’t help but ask, even though it’s so cruel, so unfair to ask this question Damien’s son of all things, but Lucien might know; he knows that Old Ones can’t tell, doesn’t know so much what Lucien can do.

For a long moment Lucien says nothing, then something in his face ripples so violently that Robert blinks in surprise, taking a moment to register that Lucien does his best not to cry. “I don’t know, okay,“ he chokes out, fingernails digging into his pants, “He’s in between, his body hasn’t decided yet – I can’t explain it. We can only wait. God, the last time we talked I just yelled at him – so stupid – I knew he was tryin‘ to protect me-“

“Breathe,“ Robert tells him without thinking, reaching out with one hand because for all he is and could be, Lucien is just a very frightened child in that very moment and there is nobody else to comfort him, so Robert has to step up whether he likes it or not. “He’s gonna be fine. You can apologize to him when he wakes up, kid, you hear me?“

Lucien nods automatically, then he falls down into the cushions and presses his face into them, making it impossible for Robert to tell whether he’s crying or not, but he decides to give him some space. Unable to look at Damien’s still form any longer yet unwilling to go as well, he turns away and walks to the window, yanking it open and fumbling a moment before he finds a cigarette in his pocket that he can light. There is nothing he can do but wait and think and so he does exactly that. At some point the bell rings, which he barely registers and so it takes a while before he gets up and opens to reveal a physician he has never seen before in his lifetime. It is a woman, pale as a ghost with white hair falling down onto her ageless shoulders. She does not say a word, just looks at him with very old eyes until he understands and steps back, trailing after her like a lost toddler.

In the bedroom, he is surprised to watch her touch Lucien’s cheek in a strangely familiar gesture for a moment, signing something so quickly that he can’t follow – not that he would’ve understood anyways. Where did Lucien find this woman? Who is she? Robert anxiously watches her bend over Damien, touching his cheek with the same strangely tender gesture before she sits down next to him, sets down an absurdly medicine bag and gets out a cooler from which she proceeds to pull out a bag of blood – human blood. It doesn’t take her long to hook Damien up on it before she signs something else to Lucien, slower this time until the boy nods in understanding, shying away from her intense gaze. The woman, strange and luminous in the darkness, looks at Robert once more, before she draws Lucien so gently into her arms as if she was afraid he might break. She walks out afterwards, as quickly and wihout a trace as she came.

“My aunt,“ Lucien whispers after a moment when Robert stares at him quizzically. “My other father’s sister. We were lucky she was nearby, otherwise we would’ve needed to bring him to the hospital and that would’ve meant questions you guy couldn’t have answered.“ 

Robert decides that he is too tired and worn to ask any more questions about strange women appearing in moments of need. He stands at the window and watches the night, smoking, thinking of Marilyn who has been dead for so long now, thinking of his daughter who is that constant aching pain in his heart. He thinks of Mary, so wrecked and so strong, suffering from the same kind of helpless love he feels himself, unable to leave her family for more reasons than simple nature, unable to hate them completely. He thinks of Joseph, likely resting in his bed and gaining strength from Mary’s blood, and he thinks of the man Joseph once was, way back when they met each other for the first time and Robert fell in love with him so hopelessly, drawn in by the light like a moth to the flame. He was burnt badly, yeah, but he’s also a fucking idiot, so it figures that his heart just can’t seem to get rid of old feelings. Even though everything is tainted with blackness that makes him shy back due to the worst reasons possible, he still can’t help himself: He wants to hold Joseph’s hand, remembers the golden hue on his skin, the smile that makes him shudder with its warmth. What makes it so hard is that he doesn’t know whether it’s the sheer memory he wants or whether it isn’t. 

Somewhere between night and the first slivers of dawn Lucien falls asleep, curled around his father, one hand resting on his chest in an almost protective manner. Close together like this, their shared features are undeniable and Robert watches them silently for a moment. Damien has not moved at all and when he touches him – softly, gently –, his skin is cold to the touch. But there is breath on his lips and Robert watches the tender flutter of his heartbeat. What it means for an Untouchable to allow another Old One to drink from him he does not know. He never asked. There are a lot of questions he didn’t ask Damien and now he regrets every single one of those unasked questions because he doesn’t know if he will ever get another chance. 

He covers both Bloodmarches with a blanket before he leaves; it is the least he can do. When he walks outside, the sky is orange and rosy from dawn, the air fresh and sweet. A new day has started and he does not feel the Call at all. For once in a long while he feels settled in his bones again and it’s the most ironic thing ever for it to happen now, after everything that has gone down in the last hours. Another last look at the black house behind him is inevitable and he stares at it for a while, a faint ache in his chest. It is a cleansing sort of ache, tugging on all the loose strings in his heart in an attempt to mend what has been torn open. Walking towards the illuminated anchor is made so much easier by this ache hat coats his heart in gentle light. 

Stung by the stars, he enters Joseph’s garden and walks up the short distance to his door. Entering is easier than he thought, mostly because the door is actually unlocked. It’s the right thing to do, being here, he thinks as he climbs up the stairs, but at the same time he feels that his heart is not in it, not really. The house is eerily silent save for a faint moan that is largely swallowed by doors and walls and yet still gives Roberts goosebumps. He tries to ignore it, tries to ignore the creaking stairs underneath his shoes too and pushes the bedroom door open without knocking first. 

His eyes meet Mary’s first, big and yellow in her tired face. She looks drained and literally is it too, carding the fingers of the arm Joseph is not sucking on through his golden hair. They are spread out on the bed, Joseph half in Mary’s embrace and in obvious need of support as he drinks. The sight hurts, a sharp, hot sting for several seconds in his heart that fades soon after. Mary says nothing when he steps closer, but her grip around her husband tightens a little. Robert smiles at her as assuringly as he can, the only comfort he can bring her. In this household, his presence can be nothing but a burden.

When he notices the other presence in the room, Joseph stops drinking and lifts his head. There are shimmering drops of red on his pink lips and Robert wants to suck them all away, yet at the same time feels no inclination to touch him and tell him that everything will be alright. Once, there was a time where he would have hung the moon and stars for Joseph, but that time has passed. Too much has happened for it to ever be right again to be with him. Maybe they will talk about it one time, about everything that has happened – Robert’s death, the bite, the Claim, their love, the thing Joseph has turned into and why – and maybe they won’t, which is probably fine as well. For now Robert finds old ache mirrored in Joseph’s heavenly blue eyes that finally do not hold the blackness of infinity anymore. They’re just eyes, old as centuries, of someone who is larger than life. But Robert doesn’t want to be larger than life anymore, he wants to stay down on earth for the little while that has been gifted to him, one way or the other. And whatever Joseph’s and Mary’s marriage is, they have to figure that out themselves.

“Rob,“ Joseph sighs and extends an arm towards him in an intention to draw him closer, ignorant of the hurt in Mary’s face. There is something so lonely about him, something that has drawn Robert in when they first met, and for the first time in maybe ever Robert wonders why Joseph is still walking on this earth when he can’t get rid of this lingering sadness. Then again, he knows the strong pull of life that can be so hard to escape, knows it very well, and it’s that what makes him step closer without taking Joseph’s hand.

“Hey, Joe,“ he says and somehow knows that they’re gonna be fine, one way or the other, that Joseph’s gonna be fine wherever he goes. “I’ve come to say goodbye.“


	15. Epilogue: Over The Moon, Over The Midnight Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we‘ve reached the epilogue! Thank you so much, everyone who accompanied me on this journey. It was a joy to write this and I hope you had fun reading it!  
> Title is taken from “Midnight Moon“ by Oh Wonder.

Damien walks home at night. 

It is the first time in a week after the exorcism because he is still weak as a kitten, but that is nothing he did not expect. All things considered, he feels fine. Everything feels a little lighter in Maple Bay, as if a curse has been lifted. He has not seen his neighbors in quite a while – well, the Christiansens at least, which is alright. Time and time alone will tell whether Joseph has truly been salvaged or whether he has been damaged too badly by the corruption. 

When he reaches his home, there are drops of blood on his stairs. Damien wordlessly stares at them, follows them up to his doors and exhales when his eyes meet Robert’s, who grins at him and holds up a tattered rabbit. “Thought you‘d like roadkill for that collection of yours.“

“As a matter of fact, I do,“ Damien says with a helplessly fond smile and steps closer. He ignores the blood and the dead rabbit in Robert’s hand when he wraps his arms around him and ducks his face into his jacket, comforted by the smell of leather and whiskey. What a mismatched pair they are, he thinks with a smile he hides against Robert’s skin, and yet there are few people in the world that make him feel the way he feels when he is with Robert. Why Robert has decided to be with him instead of Joseph, he does not truly know and is too afraid to ask, but that is alright. Everyone has their own little secrets and Damien is fine with that. “Would you like to watch me dissect it?“

“Sure, babe, why not,“ Robert replies with a shrug and presses a kiss on top of his head. “Let’s get going, then.“

Damien smiles, steps out of the night and into the light.


End file.
